


Catch Me When You Can

by wrackwonder



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, Jack the Ripper Murders, Murder, Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2020-12-07 12:24:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 67,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20975861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrackwonder/pseuds/wrackwonder
Summary: Overwhelmed with increasingly violent street crime and the insidious rumours of a man known only as “Leather Apron,” Inspector Randolph Nedley of the London Metropolitan Police instructs his undercover officer, Xavier Dolls, to invite a renowned expert in the emerging study of criminology to London. When N.R. Haught steps off the train in London’s Waterloo Station, she enters a world of corruption, poverty, disease, and murder. And when a sex-worker with the voice of an angel wanders into Nicole’s life, she’ll sacrifice anything to catch the killer before he takes all that she loves most in the world. Jack the Ripper AU





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> A quick note before we begin. This is a Jack the Ripper AU. It will contain graphic depictions of violence. My aim is not to glamorize Jack the Ripper - this story really isn't about him. Instead, as with all the Wayhaught pieces I write, I am interested in love and sadness and trauma and all the messy things that make us human. As such, while some of the names used here do belong to the real Ripper victims, I have tried to remain as respectful as possible in detailing their murders and will use original characters (from the WE verse) should a murder occur that requires detail. I do not wish to exploit the real women who lost their lives. 
> 
> I have also decided to use the word "prostitute" instead of "sex-worker" in keeping with the parlance of the day, but want to acknowledge this term is antiquated. This story will in no way paint sex-workers in a negative light. Their work and their lives are valid. 
> 
> Finally, while it is always my aim to update on a regular schedule, this piece requires some research on my part, so it may take longer than usual to write. I hope you enjoy! As this is my first AU, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Comment below to let me know what you think!

August 30, 1888

The telegram was a welcome weight in Nicole’s pocket. It had been read and re-read to the point that it was barely legible, but she liked the feel of it, especially as her journey drew to a close.

_London Metropolitan Police. STOP. Presence requested. STOP. Xavier Dolls. STOP. _

There had been other telegrams following giving her a location and a date and little background information, but the first had set her on a journey across the ocean and into London’s Waterloo Station.

She had been on the ship for nearly three weeks, sleeping in her woolen greatcoat amongst the snoring, stinking masses that boarded the ship in Montreal. The telegram had offered a reminder of why she’d stepped away from land, why she’d willingly left the comforts of a warm bunk and a hot meal from the pub down the block.

Weeks at sea and hours by train had left Nicole weary and sore. Her back ached and she wanted nothing more than a bath and a bed, but judging from Dolls’ telegrams, all comforts would need to wait. Because there was work to do and Nicole loved nothing so much as she loved her work.

The train platform bustled in a way that Nicole had never quite known before. Toronto’s Union Station was busy to be sure, but she’d heard tales of London since childhood and despite the discomfort of her boots and the endless ache of her shoulders, she smiled to herself. Dolls had offered no instructions for transferring from the Station to the Met Headquarters. All she had was an address and a map. It would do.

Whitehall Place was a quick jaunt across Waterloo Bridge and Nicole needed the walk. She hunched over in her coat, pulling her cap down over her eyes, and settled into a steady pace, grinning at the sights and sounds around her. London was loud and it smelled of rotting meat and piss, but it was alive. So incredibly alive.

Nicole walked by flower stands and newspaper boys and butchers hawking their wears in the streets. She saw gentleman in fine, beaver-fur hats and ladies dipping in and out of hansoms. And everywhere children. Running. Yelling. Chasing each other over the cobblestones as London’s factories churned out black smoke overhead.

The walk was brief, but as Nicole entered 4 Whitehall Place, the sky opened and she narrowly avoided the rain. The building was blessedly dry inside, but no less busy and Nicole briefly wondered if all of London bustled so. There were bobbies walking about, chatting with each other or guiding haggard looking men and the odd woman towards other doors in the building. Nicole approached what appeared to be a service desk and cleared her throat, trying to catch the attention of the bobby reading the daily newspaper.

“Pardon me?” She began. Her voice was dry, the result of days of silence on the ship and the smoky London air, but it nonetheless gave her away. The bobby looked up and did a double take, as so many did. Her coat and cap hid most of her features, but her voice was too high to belong to a man.

“Ma’am?” The bobby asked.

“I’m here to see Inspector Xavier Dolls.”

“Xavier Dolls? Never heard of him.” The bobby went back to his paper.

“Sir, please, I have strict instructions to meet Inspector Dolls here. It is most imperative that you…”

“Did you say Inspector Dolls?” Another voice interrupted the exchange and the bobby’s eyes widened so suddenly that Nicole turned around, expecting to see the Queen herself parade in.

It was not the Queen, not even the crown prince, but instead a portly man with a handlebar mustache and look on his face that could only be described as exasperation.

“Superintendent Nedley, I did not expect you here,” the bobby said.

“Pay it no mind. You,” the Superintendent took Nicole by the elbow, “follow me.”

It was only belatedly that Nicole realized that she was being dragged instead of led. Nedley did not look back at her as he pulled her through a crowd of constables. He did not warn her of the upcoming staircase nor did he off her entrance into his office first. Instead, he stormed through the building with the confidence of a man who owned it and when Nicole finally did find herself in the privacy of his office, she had to take a moment to catch her breath.

“In the future, I would ask you to refrain from mentioning _that_ name in public spaces,” Nedley said, circling his desk to take a seat.

“Xavier Dolls?” Nicole was still trying to gain her bearings. Nedley had not offered her a chair and she was not certain it was permissible to make such presumptions.

“Precisely. Inspector Dolls is…let us say he is best kept in the shadows.”

Nicole frowned.

“Superintendent, may I ask wh…”

“Kindly remove your cap, sir.”

It was an order not a request.

Nicole slowly removed her hat, wincing as she felt the long, auburn braid fall down her back. Nedley looked at her with barely veiled suspicion. He was not surprised, but rather vindicated, as if she had just proven his theory true.

“When Dolls said he was bringing in a ‘N.R. Haught,’ I certainly did not expect you,” he said, reaching for a blank piece of paper on his desk and a quill. Nicole chose to stay silent.

“Regardless, Dolls is rarely wrong, much to my chagrin. He has been moved to Spitalfields, you’ll find the station on Commercial Street. Do be mindful of the time, _Miss_ Haught, despite your attire, Whitechapel is no place for a woman of your breeding after dark.” Nedley handed Nicole a slip of paper with an address and the words “RN T3E7V3” scrawled across the page.

“Pardon me, Superintendent, but…my breeding?”

“Something tells me that your father was not in the mines, or a factory…that your mother never sold all that God gave her.”

The mention of her parents made Nicole feel faint. She’d barely eaten since arriving in Southampton and decided this was likely the source of her illness.

“Ah, I see,” was all she could think to say. Nedley’s demeanor and the confusion around Dolls had put her on edge.

“Best of luck to you, Miss Haught.” Nedley did not rise from his desk, nor did he look up when Nicole set her cap back on her head and turned for the door.

It was still raining when she left the station. It would not stop for another hour still.

~*~

Nicole huddled in her coat at the back of the omnibus, wearily eyeing the darkening streets outside the bus’s windows. The broad walkways gave way to tall buildings and winding alleys. Men shadowed by their coats and hats trod across muddy sidewalks and there seemed to be more and more people the closer she got to Commercial Street.

Perhaps Nedley had been correct. Perhaps she should have waited until morning. The streetlamps flickered above, as Nicole found herself in front of yet another police station. The white bricks looked grey and dirty before her, but once again she rushed beyond the doors, hoping to find somewhere dry and warm to leave her rucksack and coat.

This time when she approached the bobby on duty, she did not speak, but rather handed Nedley’s note to the man and waited. He stood immediately, though his countenance betrayed his annoyance with the task, and then disappeared through a door behind him. Nicole glanced at her pocket watch, trying to ignore how tired she felt when a familiar voice caught her attention.

“Nicole?”

Xavier Dolls had appeared behind the bobby, his smile uncharacteristically large. He seemed taller than Nicole remembered and his beard had grown in substantially, but the grin was unmistakable.

“Xavier!” Nicole was so pleased to see someone she knew, she was so relieved to hear an accent like her own, that she launched forward, striding behind the front desk and directly into Xavier’s open arms. The bobby cleared his throat, but Nicole didn’t care, pressing her cheek against the scratchy wool of Xavier’s vest.

“You must be exhausted,” Xavier said, an arm around Nicole’s back. She could have collapsed into it.

“Some, but I am here now so you really must explain yourself, Xavier.”

“All in due time, come this way.” With his arm still supporting Nicole, he allowed her to enter the doorway first, nodding gently to the confused bobby who took his seat at the front desk once more.

“Not the friendliest company,” Nicole said as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Xavier grunted, but Nicole was unable to question the man further because she was suddenly descending into a subterranean room. The stairs beneath her foot were made of rotting, moulded wood and she found herself holding her breath with each step, praying the beams would not give way.

The room was lit by lanterns, in some places, naked torches hung in cracks in the natural stone walls. They were underneath the police station, the smell of rot and time strong in the room. There was something else too, running water – a small creek – echoed off the walls and Nicole held a hand to her nose.

“Ah, yes, do not drink the water,” Xavier explained as Nicole paused as the foot of the staircase before stepping onto the earthen floor.

“What is this?” Nicole took in the small cavern. There was a large table in the centre of the room and a chalk board, the type she’d only seen in school classrooms. Otherwise, with the exception of a few chairs, the room was empty.

“This is my office.”

“_This_?” With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Nicole pondered if she should have questioned her friend more thoroughly before accepting his request.

“The London Metropolitan Police find my methods best kept in the dark.”

“To be sure!” As her eyes adjusted, Nicole realized that the table was covered in documents and photographs. She looked down, frowning at the sight before her.

“I ask questions that Inspector Abberline cannot ask. I go places Inspector Abberline is not welcome,” Xavier shrugged, standing next to Nicole at the table.

The photograph in her hand was gruesome.

A woman’s body lay in the street, her garments strewn about her as if she’d simply laid down and gone to rest. The image was blurry and the light poor, but Nicole could see the unspeakable horrors committed to her abdomen, the dark stains around her not clothing as Nicole first assumed, but blood on the stones. It was hard to make out her face, her features were blurred by the shaky hand of the photographer, but Nicole could tell that she was young and that her death had been painful.

She looked up to find Xavier’s eyes cast far from the table.

“You knew her,” Nicole said. Xavier offered a tight smile.

“Your powers of deduction are still impressive,” he answered, but his eyes never drifted to the photograph.

“Still, Xavier, who was she?”

“Willa Earp. No more than thirty years old. Found in July like that. There has not been one like it since, but Abberline insists on adding an earlier death to his Whitechapel file.”

Xavier handed Nicole another photograph, this time of a woman lying in an infirmary bed. Her face was bruised, but there were no other signs of injury.

“Emma Smith, beaten by a gang at Osborne Street. She died in hospital the fourth of April,” Xavier said.

“These were not committed by the same hand.” Nicole held up both images.

“This is the most recent,” Xavier handed Nicole yet another photograph. The woman was heavy-set, her mouth open and slack-jawed in death.

“Seventh August,” Xavier said, “Martha Tabram.”

“Tell me, Xavier, was she wounded elsewhere?”

“Multiple stab wounds.”

“But was she…open…like the Earp woman?”

“No.”

Nicole did not notice Xavier’s affectionate grin in her direction. She set the three images down before her and removed her coat. It felt lighter to be free of it and Nicole rolled up her sleeves and tossed her cap onto the chair behind her.

“I will need to see the files in more detail. And speak to witnesses.”

“Of course,” Xavier took a seat next to Nicole.

“Prostitutes?” Nicole finally raised her eyes from the files to look at Xavier. He nodded.

“And Willa Earp, do we know much of her?” Willa Earp’s murder stuck out to her like gold dust in a heap of coal. The ferocity of the attack, the brutalization of the body, it was not the work of a street gang or crazed drunkard with a knife. Nicole found the autopsy report in the files and blanched. Slit throat. Removal of uterus, ovaries…all done with surgical precision.

“I know her sisters. And you will too.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve found you room and board at Gibson’s. Nedley has agreed to provide for your lodgings and the lady of the house will insure that you are fed and bathed regularly.”

Nicole laughed.

“Did you find me a room in a whore house, Xavier Dolls?”

“A _reputable_ house of entertainments, shall we say?”

Nicole laughed again. And then stopped. Because she held horrors in her hands and her laughter felt like dancing on a grave. 


	2. Gibson's

Gibson’s was nothing to look at from the outside. The narrow streets of Whitechapel were busy even after dark, and the brothel appeared no different from any other tenement house on the lane. There were people sitting on the walk outside and on the second story, a woman sat in the window carrying on a conversation with a man below. Otherwise, the building was dark, it almost appeared derelict, save for the faded sign over its door that read _Gibson’s_ and a single lantern illuminating the entrance.

Dolls led Nicole inside, opening the door for her. She was tired, but eager to start their work, and the image of Willa Earp’s body weighed heavily on her. She assumed that Gibson’s was closed, shut down for the night, and that Dolls was just bringing her to meet the lady of the house who would provide a much-needed bed. Except Gibson’s was not closed.

The noise swelled from the back of the building, its volume so startling that it hit Nicole like a physical force that caused her to take a step back, bumping into Dolls’ chest. He laughed a little, but with a comforting hand on her shoulder, led her forward down a dark hallway towards a rectangle of pure, yellow light at the end. There were no doors on either side, and the stairway leading upstairs faced the front door, but appeared abandoned. Dolls had obviously been here before.

When they stepped into the light, Nicole felt her mouth open in surprise. It was a large room, dotted with chair and round tables. There was a bar on one side and a stage at the far end, illuminated by gas lamps and a lush, red, moth-eaten curtain. The noise had come from the stage where two women danced and laughed and the audience clapped for them, hollering out their names with a familiarity that let Nicole know that Gibson’s had regulars.

It was packed despite the late hour, each table filled with men and serviced by women carrying pints and plates of bread. Dolls pointed to the only open table in the room and Nicole followed, marvelling that her friend was a regular at such a place. The table was obviously his, as was the chair, and she was curious to know why, why this place?

“That’s John Henry,” Dolls said, offering no explanation for his own familiarity. He pointed towards the bar where a man with an impressive moustache and a scowl on his face served drinks. Nicole nodded once and then pulled a small notebook from her pocket. She quickly set up a pen and a small bottle of ink on the table too.

“Bartender?” She asked, writing down Henry’s name.

“And doctor. Keeps the girls healthy,” Dolls explained.

“And the two on the stage?”

“Mercy Gardner and Rosita Bustillos – Mercy is a jokester, Rosita does magic tricks of a sort.”

“Spiritualism?”

“Explosions, sulfurs, small fires.” Dolls smiled as he spoke. He then pointed to another corner. Nicole could just make out a veiled woman sitting at a table, she was holding cards and the man sitting opposite her laughed out loud at whatever she was saying.

“Big Nose Kate,” Dolls said.

“Big nose…”

“They say she can hold her breath for nearly four minutes.”

“Oh?”

“A great convenience in her line of work.”

Nicole blushed profusely and hoped the dim room would hide it from Dolls.

“Kate knows all,” Dolls said.

“A clairvoyant?”

“Ha! No. A busybody, a holder of secrets. She’s also the wife of John Henry.”

Nicole made an arrow from Henry’s name to Kate’s in her notebook.

“We will need to speak to them all,” Nicole said, making a mental note to start with Kate.

“The one at the front table, making all the noise? That is Charles Hardy III.”

There was a top hat on his table and the hand he had raised towards the stage hit the light, illuminating a large emerald ring.

“The owner?”

“Not of the building…”

Dolls’ words were dark. They made Nicole frown.

“Hardy frequents Gibson’s nightly. He spends a great deal of his fortune here.”

“On the women?”

“On _one_ woman…”

Nicole shook her head, ignoring whatever it was that Dolls was going to say. She was trying to make sense of the sudden list of characters in her notebook. There was a loud _poof_ from the stage, and the dancer named Rosita held a glass vile in one hand, her body surrounded by a translucent puff of smoke. The audience laughed and cheered and Nicole turned away.

“What we really need is our own illustrator,” she said, eyeing John Henry again.

“The Met has one, as do the newspapers,” Dolls pointed out.

“Precisely. Those photographs were atrocious, Xavier, we need our own man to capture what _we_ need to see. Not what those ghouls from the paper want.”

“Must it be a man?” Dolls asked.

Nicole brushed her hand at him, ignoring the joke.

“Do you know of anyone?”

“I do. That’s part of why we’re here tonight,” Dolls said.

“Oh,” Nicole looked up, eyeing the room, “a patron or…”

“No, you’ll see soon enough.”

“And the owner of this fine establishment?” Nicole had finished making her marks and arrows, but she knew she was missing large pieces of information. She’d yet to meet any of Willa Earp’s kin and that was an important step.

“Wynonna Earp,” Dolls said.

“Wynonna? What a queer name…”

“For a queer woman.”

The voice came from behind Nicole and when Nicole turned, she was somewhat taken aback by the woman standing there. Wynonna Earp was of no great height, but she seemed tall somehow, her dark hair pinned into loose curls that cascaded down her back. She was dressed in a fine velvet gown and while the room was too dark to tell, Nicole thought the material might be green, as rich as a forest in the height of summer. Her arms were bare, and the gown was tightly cinched by a bodice front, but what surprised Nicole the most was the holster Wynonna wore loosely around her hips. It held a peacemaker rifle, the type Nicole had seen once in a Wild West Show back home.

Wynonna circled the table, one hand resting a beat too long on Dolls’ shoulder, and then took a seat across from Nicole.

“This is your specialist?” She asked, one eyebrow raised in Nicole’s direction.

“Nicole and I grew up together,” Xavier said. Wynonna’s incredulous expression did not change.

“In the colonies, yes, still does not explain your choices, Xavier.”

“We studied criminology and both worked on the Donnely murders,” Nicole said by way of explanation. She chose to leave out the face that Dolls had worked the case while she had provided notes and insights off the record. There was no place for a woman on the police force in Toronto and Dolls was barely allowed a desk in the building. They worked behind the scenes, in secret. Judging by Dolls’ current work space, not much was different in London.

Wynonna waved her hand dismissively.

“My sister was gutted in the streets, I wish to see her killer strung up, and I would do the job myself if I had the time and the means.”

Nicole believed her.

“May I ask you a few questions, Ms. Earp?”

“Look at this one, playing at coppers,” Wynonna nudged Xavier with her elbow.

“Wynonna,” Xavier sighed heavily. He was about to say more when a woman approached the table with a pint in her hand. Nicole recognized her from the stage – Mercy Gardner. Up close she was pretty despite the heavy rouge on her cheeks. She was clearly intoxicated.

“Johnny sends his regards,” Mercy said, placing the pint in front of Wynonna and then unceremoniously dropping herself onto Wynonna’s lap.

Wynonna barked a laugh, leaning back in her chair to accommodate Mercy, and then raised her pint in the direction of the bar. Nicole just caught John Henry’s nod and scowl in their direction.

“Listen, copper, you’ll have room upstairs and breakfast each day. My aunt, Gus, will get you settled later on. Can’t have your earthly possessions taking up my dance hall,” Wynonna said, pointing to the rucksack at Nicole’s feet.

“That’s very kind of you, but…”

“You’ll have your questions too. With the girls, me, but when I say. I won’t have you interrupting the shows. This is a place of business.”

From the stage, Rosita laughed, took a swig from a bottle, and then breathed on a fiery torch she held in her hand. Flames rose, nearly igniting the curtain, and Nicole yelped.

“Would you look at that? Again?” Mercy sprung up from Wynonna’s lap, shaking her head.

“Get the water, love, and see that my sister is ready.” Wynonna slapped Mercy’s ass.

“A place of business?” Nicole asked aloud. Xavier squeezed her knee below the table.

“Yes, what of it?” Wynonna turned to Nicole with a challenging gaze.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Earp, I did not mean to speak out of turn.”

“Have you never been to a _business_ like this?” Wynonna was testing her, Nicole knew it. But she also knew that she was somehow failing. Xavier remained mostly silent and she felt safe with him, but Wynonna was reading her like an open book and Nicole wished the other woman’s eyes would turn away and focus on someone else.

“Uh…no, ma’am, no…”

“Xavier, you bring me virgins,” Wynonna said, smiling towards Dolls. Nicole’s felt her cheeks go hot and was once again grateful for the dim light.

There was some sort of commotion at the front, Nicole couldn’t quite see what was happening, but she certainly heard a rumble through the crowd. There was the sense of anticipation and she wondered what could be next. Wynonna was making her nervous and frustrated and she really wanted to get on with her reason for being at Gibson’s. There were interviews to conduct and an illustrator to hire and she needed to ask Dolls how long he’d been in love with Wynonna Earp.

The stage grew dark and the red, velvet curtain swept across its length. The crowd cheered, Nicole saw Charles Hardy stand up and holler, but then the room went silent because Mercy Gardner stepped back onto the stage, illuminated by a single spotlight.

“Some excitement for you there, hey loves?”

The crowd clapped politely. The room was still smoky from Rosita’s final act.

“And now, Gentlemen _and _Gentlemen, and maybe a lady or two, the moment you’ve all be waiting for, it is my honour to present to you…the Angel of Whitechapel!”

Mercy bowed and trotted off the stage to a collective, polite applause. Nicole sat up straighter in her chair, trying to get a clearer view of the stage.

The spotlight remained, but moved, catching in its beam a woman who entered from stage left. She was dressed in navy sailor’s pants, wide legged, and her torso was covered in a white shirt that matched her uniform. The shirt was open to her naval, held together by prayer and Nicole wondered what else. It protected her dignity, but Nicole could tell she wore nothing underneath and felt herself blush once more. She briefly wondered if she should look away, but she couldn’t, not when she saw the face of the woman on stage.

She was beautiful, as useless as the word was to describe her. Small and pale, but strong, Nicole could tell from the way her shirt was rolled up to her elbows, from the muscled forearms holding a measure of heavy rope. Honey-brown hair bellowed down her back in waves and the spotlight washed out the colour of her eyes, but Nicole understood why this woman was called an angel. Her face…Nicole had never before…

“Good evening, lads!” The woman shouted from stage, making a show of lugging the rope to the centre. The spotlight disappeared and the gas lamps lit once more.

“I’ve been away from home for quite some time, but I see land ahead!” The woman pointed to a heavy-set man in the front row and the crowd chuckled.

“Aye, my burden is great,” the woman dropped the rope and pushed out her chest, wiggling her eyebrows. Charles Hardy stood clapping again until his friends pulled him down.

“Will you sing with me, my sweet boys? Will you?”

“Yes!” Came the resounding call, “Yes, _Waverly_!”

_Waverly_

Nicole looked from the stage to Wynonna who was staring at her intently. _Waverly Earp_.

But then she looked back because Waverly had started to sing. It was a sound unlike any Nicole had ever heard on earth. Light, but strong, full of feeling and humour. She watched as Waverly stood still on stage, her hands loose at her sides, her head tipped upwards towards the light, and the entire room held its breath, frightened that their inhales would interrupt her.

_I thought I heard the old man say,_

_“Leave her, Johnny, leave her,_

_It’s a long, hard pull to the next payday_

_And it’s time for us to leave her_.

Nicole pressed a hand to her chest, only knowing that she somehow needed to hold her beating heart still lest it give her away. Waverly smiled and turned, waving at a customer, blowing a kiss between the verse.

“Who’s going to help me now, my loves?” She called out and a chorus answered her.

_Leave her, Johnny, leave her!_

_Oh, leave her, Johnny leave her,_

_For the voyage is done and the winds don’t blow,_

_And it’s time for us to leave her!_

The song continued, the voices rising and falling with each verse, but Waverly’s was the clearest. Nicole ignored how Waverly shook her chest for the men sometimes, how she played with the button of her shirt or her belt buckled. She ignored everything but Waverly’s face and her clear, astounding voice.

And when the song was done, when Waverly bowed and laughed, and danced from the stage, Nicole still sat with her hand to her chest.

Wynonna Earp watched her every move, but Nicole didn’t care. Not when Wynonna smirked. And certainly not when Wynonna leaned back in her chair and nodded her head, as if she somehow now understood something that had confounded her.

~*~

Gus was a sour woman, at least that’s the impression she gave Nicole. Short, but strong, Gus lifted Nicole’s rucksack from the floor of the club and only paused when Wynonna whispered instructions in her ear.

Nicole was still breathless from Waverly’s performance, but Gus moved so quickly that she barely had time to yelp a farewell to Xavier and then she was trotting behind the strange, short-haired woman, back down the long hallway she’d entered from. Gus led her up the stairs, still dark, but Nicole was curious to see the rest of the building. The nightclub took up the whole back and she wondered if Wynonna owned the entire property.

Surely there were bedrooms somewhere for the club to conduct its other, profitable _business_. Nicole felt herself frowning at the thought but tried not to judge. Money was money and Wynonna Earp was a woman with a successful business and, likely, real estate. It was a noteworthy accomplishment and despite Nicole’s initial distrust of Wynonna, she was also impressed.

Gus came to a sudden stop in front of a closed door, turning with an exaggerated sigh.

“You. Go down here. First door on your left,” she said.

“Oh…uh…thank you? Shall I take my…”

“No. Later. Just go,” Gus hurried off with all of Nicole’s earthly belongings, leaving Nicole startled. Everything about Gibson’s startled her.

She opened the door and followed Gus’s instructions, finding the first room on the left and entering. It was brightly lit and red, or, the bedspread and the wallpaper and the furniture was all red. Nicole’s eyes took a moment to adjust to what appeared to be an finely attired bedroom, full of lush pillows and blankets. It looked expensive, though closer inspections of one of the couches revealed wear and tear along the edges.

Could this be her room? She had expected a cot, perhaps a washbasin, but this was opulent. Nicole wandered the small space, absent mindedly picking up objects she found and placing them back down. The bed took up most of the space – a four post bed with lush velvet curtains – but the rest of the room seemed lived in, as well.

Nicole didn’t open the bureau, but she stopped by a small writing desk, her eye drawn to a stack of papers on one corner. They were watercolours, the image on top of the pile was very clearly Wynonna Earp. When Nicole lifted the pile, she found pencil sketches, images of the Mercy and Kate and John Henry. Whoever drew these had a good eye for life drawing and Nicole suddenly realized why she was in the room.

The illustrator. Of course. Wynonna had sent her to meet Xavier’s promised illustrator. It all made sense. Nicole grinned, pleased that Wynonna was cooperating, and continued studying the contents of the desk. She fingered a small collection of books pressed against the wall, recognizing some of the titles. There was even an open newspaper draped over a pile of pencils and charcoals, today’s paper, obviously left in haste and open to what appeared to be a story of a terrible highwayman.

Nicole raised the paper closer, about to flip the page when the door burst open and she jumped, pressing herself against the desk and its accompanying chair for balance.

Waverly Earp stood in the doorway, peering at Nicole with a wolf-like grin. She looked different than the stage persona Nicole had first seen. She wasn’t quite so pale and gone were the seaman’s clothes. Instead, Waverly wore a wide skirt and a corset barely tied at the chest. Nicole was so shocked to see her in person that she felt her mouth open and close, the action caught by Waverly’s eyes, which Nicole realized were not dark as she had thought, but a honey-green.

“When my sister said she had a gift for me, I thought she meant an orange!” Waverly said, barking in laughter. Nicole willed herself to speak, but she couldn’t because Waverly was so…everywhere.

The woman in question was short of stature, but just as strong as she’d appeared to be on stage; Nicole could see shapely biceps and strong forearms. Whatever stage makeup she’d worn earlier in the night remained only in small speckles – her lips seemed redder than natural and her cheeks were rosy.

Waverly Earp was coming closer and closer to her, the Angel of Whitechapel looked far from angelic. Nicole wondered why she suddenly felt like prey.

“Umm…Miss Waverly?”

“Oh, _Miss_ Waverly? Charming!” Waverly stood in front of Nicole, looking her up and down. Without warning she reached for Nicole’s hat and tossed it from her head.

“I…”

“A gift, indeed. And who might you be?” Waverly placed bother hands on her hips, leaning forward. Her corset was so loose that Nicole forced her eyes to the ceiling.

“Umm…I…”

“_Umm…I_…you are most appealing, do you know?”

Nicole swallowed hard.

“And what can I do you for you this evening, _Ummm…I_?” Waverly stepped away, crossing the room to another set of drawers. Nicole barely took a breath before Waverly opened the cupboard in question revealing a collection of objects Nicole could not believe existed.

“Now, this is as much a treat for me as it is you, so be honest, darling, would you care for a go? Or do you prefer just us?”

Nicole didn’t even know what she was looking at. Cocks. She was looking at cocks. Leather. Glass. Why on earth would Waverly Earp own such an assortment of…

“There has been some mistake!” Nicole managed to sputter, pushing herself from the desk.

“A mistake?” Waverly’s smile was encouraging.

“Yes! I wish to hire you…for a job!”

Waverly was laughing again.

“Yes, sweetheart, that is the point, is it not?”

Nicole shook her head, trying to get her bearings.

“No, I…”

“You are a lovely thing, aren’t you?” Waverly left her _collection_ to stand before Nicole again. She rested both hands on Nicole’s hips, a gentle touch, but Nicole pushed back like Waverly’s hands were ice.

“Are we playing a game?” Waverly asked, but her joviality lessened.

“No! I…”

Waverly tilted her head, looking at Nicole’s face, _really _looking at her, and all Nicole could do was stare back and sputter. She had lost all capabilities for language and speech.

“I will admit that it’s rare I get such a gift, rarer still that it’s one such as you,” Waverly whispered in a way that had Nicole’s head swimming.

“Please, Miss, I think…”

“_Miss_…I do like that.”

“I…I’m here about your sister! Willa!”

Willa’s name tore Waverly from Nicole’s side. She stepped back and looked at Nicole with an awful mix of suspicion and fear. It was all Nicole could do not to lurch forward and ask forgiveness.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Waverly, there has been some error. I am here with Xavier Dolls to solve the murder of your sister.”

Waverly took this in, her brow furrowed for a moment.

“Xavier? Wynonna did mention something…”

“Yes, please, Miss, I am truly story if you mistook my intentions here. I would _never_, I could never…”

“Oh, I doubt that, sweetheart, still…” Waverly looked slightly uncomfortable as she turned to look over her shoulder, her eyes finding the now closed cupboard. Nicole understood Waverly’s unease. She had revealed too much. She had pushed intimacy in a place where only cold and damp existed. Nicole desperately wanted to take away the look of discomfort on Waverly’s face.

“These are extraordinary,” Nicole said, lifting a drawing from the bureau. This caught Waverly’s attention.

“What?”

“The pictures. Paintings and pencil? Wonderous,” Nicole nodded encouragingly, and Waverly smiled.

“Thank you, Miss…?”

“Nicole. Nicole Haught.”

“Nicole Haught. I supposed you already know my name, which seems to me unfair given our…introduction. My sister can be cruel when she means to be.”

Nicole swallowed hard, trying to ignore the pangs of humiliation in her stomach. Wynonna had read her far too easily. And then Waverly…

“It’s just that Xavier and I are in need of an illustrator.”

This piqued Waverly’s interest.

“How so?”

“The newspapers have their own man and the police do, as well, but Xavier and I are working together. We need our own eyes, our own talent.”

“You find me talented?” Waverly was teasing, but Nicole could only nod sincerely.

“Indeed, Miss Waverly, Indeed!”

“And what would you have me do?”

Nicole found her discarded hat on the floor and scooped it up, its familiar presence comforting in her hands.

“We would need you to accompany us to view the bodies…should there be new bodies. I am afraid it would be most horrible, most vile, and…”

“You will find Willa’s killer?”

“Yes, that is our aim. But I understand if you do not wish to be amongst such darkness, Miss Waverly, it is not for a lady’s eyes.”

Waverly laughed aloud at this, shaking her head.

“I am no lady, Miss Haught, that should be quite obvious by now.”

The corset barely holding Waverly’s chest strained as its wearer continued to laugh. Nicole blushed, but kept her eyes firmly on Waverly’s face.

“I believe that you are,” Nicole said.

“And I believe that you are not,” Waverly responded with no malice. Her smile was strange, indecipherable, and Nicole was not hurt, but instead, intrigued by the young woman before her dressed in the garb of a street walker, but living in a bedroom full of fine furnishings. A woman whose books were written in French and Latin and Greek. A woman who was so much more than what she thought herself to be.

“I would be, I mean, Xavier and I would be most pleased if you would join us.”

Waverly paused, looking over Nicole, her eyes taking in Nicole’s scuffed leather boots, and well-worn wool trousers, and the rolled-up sleeves of her shirt.

“I think it would please me as well, Miss Haught.”

“Please, Nicole.”

“Nicole,” Waverly said, nodding her head once. “Shall we find you a proper place to sleep? Or would you like to drop your things at the foot of my bed and curl up like a common house cat?”

Nicole knew it was said in jest, but the idea of being anywhere near Waverly Earp’s bed made her feel an unwanted tightening inside.

Before Nicole could answer, Waverly was out in the hallway, calling for Gus and yelling after Wynonna. It was all ruckus, but Nicole did not care. She took one last glance at Waverly’s bedroom, at the drawings on the table and the closed cupboard full of unspeakables and then she walked away, wondering if she’d ever have the chance to return.

~*~

Nicole’s new room was located in the attic. Gus grumbled all the way up the stairs, but Nicole was quite pleased once they arrived. A window provided some much-needed light, though it was from a streetlamp as the sun had long since set.

A single bed was pushed against a wall and there was a small desk with a chair. Compared to the opulence of Waverly’s abode, the room was dreary, but Nicole found it warm and inviting.

She kicked off her boots and opened her rucksack and for the first time in weeks had a moment to herself. Nicole discarded her waistcoat and reached into the rucksack, fishing out a long shirt for bed and a book or two that she set atop the desk.

There was a set of shelves attached to a grubby, circular mirror near the door and Nicole was pleased to see a basin filled with water on the highest shelf. She carefully removed the rest of her clothing, mindful that she had little to her name and her trousers and shirt had to be mended and reused as much as possible.

Naked before the mirror, Nicole frowned at the sight of herself. She was thin and pale and the burn over her left hip was still an uncomfortable pink. She knew it would never heal perfectly, but the constant reminder as it rubbed against her shirt was enough to make her ill.

She quickly pulled her nightshirt over her head and undid the plait holding her hair. She wanted sleep and darkness. She wanted to forget everything if only for a moment.

She’d earned that right.

~*~

“Nicole.”

A voice startled her from sleep. The room was still dark. Nicole blinked heavily, pushing herself up on one elbow as she slowly opened her eyes.

The door was open, a small beam of light illuminated the hallway. Wynonna stood just outside the doorframe.

Xavier stood over her bed, one hand on her shoulder.

“Xavier?”

“Get up Nicole. There’s been a murder.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shanty Waverly sings is "Leave Her, Johnny."
> 
> Your comments make my world! As noted previously, this story takes extra time to write due to research, so I thank you for your patience and hope you'll stick around.
> 
> Let me know what you think!!!


	3. The Body

There were too many people on the street.

When they’d first arrived, a solitary police officer stood next to the body. And the coroner, a Dr. Llewellyn who appeared to be tired and just as frustrated as Nicole. Three men from a nearby slaughterhouse walked by and then a night watchman. By the time another police inspector approached the scene, Nicole was ready to scream.

The body lay still on the ground, abnormally still. But Llewellyn had remarked that though her hands were cold, her arms were warm. Death still lurked amongst them, even as the sun turned the inky black night into a grey dawn. Nicole watched as Dolls stood next to Police Constable John Thain. The two men whispered to each other while Llewellyn leaned over the body, shaking his head.

Waverly Earp stood in the midst of the gore, a notebook held against her left arm and a pencil in her right hand, dutifully sketching the scene. Nicole was astounded by her transformation because Waverly was wearing a fine, grey wool dress, buttoned up to her throat. Her hair was sweptback, high on her head, and her gloves were black leather. For all her talk of not being a lady, she certainly looked like one.

Nicole didn’t like the leers of the slaughterhouse men, or the look of the watchman who’d wandered into the lane. She stepped closer to Waverly, unsure of how her presence could protect the other woman, but uncomfortable with their eyes on her illustrator.

“Are you cold, Miss Waverly?” Nicole asked. Waverly was visible shivering despite her fine dress.

“Perpetually,” she answered, her smile not reaching her eyes. Nicole shrugged out of her greatcoat, awkwardly placing it over Waverly’s shoulders.

“We need to move the body,” Dr. Llewellyn said, sighing heavily as he looked over his shoulder at the numerous bystanders.

“Agreed,” Thain replied and Dolls nodded, still frowning.

“Do we know who she is?” Nicole found her voice, risking an intrusion.

“Probably just some whore,” one of the slaughterhouse men spit on the ground, offering a crewed smile to his comrades. Waverly stiffened beside Nicole.

“It doesn’t matter, gentleman, whore or not, she is dead and the dead have stories to tell, as do the living,” Llewelyn stood, brushing his hands on his jacket.

“Are you finished, Waverly?” Nicole asked, quietly.

Waverly nodded, making a few final adjustments to her work before folding a leather cover over the delicate papers in her hand. 

The news was spreading quickly through the neighbourhood and while Nicole wanted nothing more than to accompany Llewelyn to the mortuary, it would never be allowed. She’d have to settle for less.

~*~

Nicole’s eyes moved from the photograph of Willa to Waverly’s sketch of the newest victim. She leaned closer to the table, looking up only to bring a lit candle closer to the papers on the table before her.

There were notable similarities. The dishevelled appearance of the clothing and hair. The blood. She wouldn’t know all the secrets of the unknown woman in Waverly’s sketch until Dolls returned from the mortuary with the autopsy report, but she was willing to bet all the coin in her pocket that the same man was responsible for both crimes.

“You’re quite attractive when you frown like that,” Waverly’s voice forced Nicole away from her examination. She glanced up, offering a shy smile at the woman smirking in her direction.

Waverly sat away from the research materials, a chipped cup in her hands. Nicole continuously marveled how well Waverly fit in with any and all circumstances. At Gibson’s, she was at home, travelling its hallways in loose garments and confidence. At the crime scene, she had looked like a fine lady and a skilled professional, as evidenced by the quality of her drawing. And here, in Dolls’ subterranean office, she appeared to be comfortable with a cup of tea and the dark, dripping walls.

“My mother always said it would give me wrinkles,” Nicole said, hoping Waverly would not notice the slight tremors in her voice when she mentioned her mother.

“It makes you look like a scholar.”

“Would that I were!”

“And why can’t you be?” Waverly set down her cup and continued looking at Nicole, her lips quirked in a mysterious smile. Nicole wondered why the Earp women were constantly staring at her as if they knew something she did not.

“A woman? In the library?” Nicole laughed and Waverly joined her, both appreciating the sarcasm.

“I adore books,” Waverly said, “_my_ mother used to pull them away from me as a child. Said they’d go to my head.”

“And did they?”

“Do I expect a handsome knight to carry me off to his castle?”

“Well, do you?” Nicole briefly pondered how she’d look in armour.

“I’m _just a whore_, Miss Haught, no knight will recuse me.”

It was a statement. There was no sorrow in Waverly’s voice. But to Nicole it felt like a punch to the stomach.

“That’s not true! You are so much more! You…”

Waverly’s smirk turned hard, as if she’d caught Nicole in a trap.

“And if I was _just a whore_?”

“I…”

“I am many things, Nicole. I sing. I dance. I draw corpses as of this morning. But I’m also a whore. A good one,” Waverly said, her eyes never leaving Nicole’s.

Nicole swallowed hard, unable to maintain the eye contact.

“Would it matter if _they_ were just whores,” Waverly continued. Nicole looked down at the documents on the table. Willa. The unknown woman from the morning.

“No, of course not.”

“Do they not deserve as much justice as the Queen herself?”

“Of course they do!”

“Then why does it bother you so that I am just like them?”

Nicole shifted uncomfortably. She did not have an answer to the question, but Waverly’s ever-present smile indicated that she knew what Nicole was thinking before Nicole was even able to form a thought. It was unnerving.

“I…”

“What a bloody mess!” Dolls descended the stairs two at a time, interrupting Nicole’s stuttering. She was grateful for his intrusion.

“Xavier, goodness!” Waverly’s shock made Nicole turn to look at her friend. He tossed his coat aside, revealing shirt sleeves and hands stained with blood.

“The press is swarming all about, it’s a right circus if you ask me,” Xavier said.

Nicole brought her friend a pitcher of water and a towel they’d left the previous morning.

“And the body?” She asked, wincing at the sight of so much blood on her friend’s person.

“Just as before. He slit her throat. And she’s been disembowelled.”

“Christ,” Nicole whispered.

“Not sure he has much to do with it,” Xavier said. He worked quickly to rid his hands of blood, but the sight of the water turning red made Nicole feel nauseas.

“Anything else? Her name?”

“Mary Nicholls. Called Polly sometimes.”

“You should ask Mercy, she knows everyone,” Waverly said. She stood, her handkerchief pressed to her mouth and Nicole realized belatedly that their discussion of the autopsy was beyond what Waverly wanted to hear. Because it had been the same _modus operandi _with Willa and Waverly likely knew.

Dolls dried his hands on the towel and frowned.

“I’ll need to change my shirt before speaking to Inspector Spratling again.”

Nicole was about to ask more questions, but Waverly interrupted, breezing through the room in a few quick steps.

“Come then, Xavier, let us depart to happier climes,” Waverly said, reaching her hand towards Dolls. He quickly shrugged into his jacket and tucked Waverly’s hand into the crook of his elbow.

“You’ll come to Gibson’s later? Wynonna has asked for the interviews this afternoon,” Dolls said, turning to Nicole from the lowest step.

“Yes. Of course,” Nicole answered. She was frustrated by the lack of information. By the fact that she was not allowed to attend the autopsy or speak to the police herself.

“Tell me what you see, Nicole. Use that magic the way you do,” Dolls’ voice forced Nicole to look up from the table once more. She could feel her own frown fade as Waverly looked at her curiously. Dolls winked and then led Waverly up the stairs, leaving Nicole with the images below.

She knew that Willa Earp and Mary Nicholls had died by the same hand.

She knew that the knife used was sharp and not serrated.

She knew that the murders occurred away from the crime scene because there was not enough blood on the ground, nor witnesses.

She knew that Xavier Dolls kept his clothing at Gibson’s, which meant that he was living at Gibson’s.

She knew that Xavier Dolls was in love with Wynonna Earp.

And she knew that Waverly Earp’s perfume still lingered on her own great coat, distracting her when she did not wish to be distracted.

Nicole picked up the coat from a nearby chair and sniffed it once.

“You’re a fool, Nicole Haught,” she said, tossing the coat aside and settling in to her work.

~*~

Gibson’s was different by daylight.

The dance hall was a mess of upturned chair and tables. There were no dancers or lights or much in the way of entertainment. Instead, everyone had a job and was diligently at work. Nicole sat at the same back table as the night before, but she was struck by the lack of magic in the space. The fact that Waverly was absent may have added to her feeling.

Wynonna Earp stood at the front of the room directing the chaos before her. She was still in a sleeveless corset, but a black shawl covered her shoulders, giving her the appearance of an older woman. Her ever-present rifle hung by her hip and Nicole again found herself in awe of the woman and unnerved by her presence.

Dipping her pen into a nearby inkpot, Nicole opened her notebook and decided to get started. Just as she wrote _Mercy Gardner_, the woman in question sat down heavily in a chair next to her and laughed.

“Are we playin’ coppers?” Mercy asked, setting her elbows down on the table.

“No, Miss Gardner, I’m afraid there’s no playing involved,” Nicole said.

“Pity, love, all the same, the misses says I’m to answer your questions.”

Nicole offered a small, reassuring grin. Mercy winked back.

“Did you know Mary Nicholls?”

“Mary? I knew a Polly Nicholls,” Mercy said, nodding.

“Can you tell me anything about her? I’m sure you’ve heard by now…”

“Aw, yes, poor dear. Just like our Willa.”

Nicole made a mental note of Mercy’s demeanor. She was sad, but the mention of Willa didn’t seem to tip her into tears.

“I’m afraid so, which is why _anything_ you can tell us…”

“Polly was a nice girl, but she had a bit of a, well…_the drink_…” Mercy said.

“Did she live on the street or did she have a home?”

“Don’t know that, I think she had children though…and a husband. Not a happy lot, but she spoke of her children.”

Nicole swallowed hard. Tragedy upon tragedy.

“Workhouses mostly,” Mercy continued, “But the streets provide when the workhouses don’t.”

“And leather apron?”

Mercy visibly blanched.

“Who told you about leather apron?”

“My partner, Xavier Dolls. He told me in a telegram,” Nicole said.

“Average height. Never seen his face. In the darkness…he says _give up your earnings or he’ll butcher us up_.”

“Anything else about his appearance?” Nicole asked.

“Black coat. Black apron.”

The room smelled like freshly baked bread and stale beer and Nicole shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She was exhausted. And hungry. And her shirt scratched her scar as if to remind her that it was present and never going away.

When a warm palm found her cheek seconds later, Nicole only belatedly realized that she’d been staring down into her notebook instead of at Mercy.

“You hungry, love?” Mercy asked, genuinely concerned.

“It’s alright, honest.”

“Can’t work on an empty stomach now can you?” Mercy started to stand, patting Nicole’s cheek as she did.

“No, wait, Miss Gardner it’s just…”

“Hmm?” Mercy winked at Nicole. Using _Miss_ was apparently enough to make the staff at Gibson’s happy.

“Do you go…I mean…do you…the streets…?”

“I’ve always had a mind for business,” Mercy said, leaning against the table, “so if the tips aren’t good and I need a new shawl, well, I’m a smart girl, I am.”

“Mercy, it’s not safe.” Nicole looked at Mercy pleadingly, but the woman before her offered another wink and turned towards the kitchens.

“It’s as safe for me out there as it is for you in here,” Mercy’s voice rang as she left.

Nicole took a moment to ponder the statement before calling for her next interviewee.

~*~

Rosita arrived with a basket of bread and the smell of gunpowder. She didn’t sit, but instead set the food in front of Nicole and crossed her arms, clearly waiting.

“Rosita?” Nicole asked, trying not to lunge at the bread and stay professional.

“A man in a leather apron. Your height. No one has seen his face – it was too dark or he was wearing a mask. Asked for nightly earnings, threatened to gut those who said no. Anything else you want?”

Nicole blinked.

“Umm…”

“John Henry sends his regards,” Rosita pointed to the bread.

“Wait, Rosita, did you know Willa well?”

This stalled Rosita’s attempt at a hasty exit. She glanced from Nicole to Wynonna who was busy near the stage inspecting a piece of fabric in Mercy’s hand.

“We all knew her,” Rosita said, shrugging.

“Why was she on the street that night?” Nicole asked.

“Why do any of us go to the street? Probably wanted a heavier coin purse, got more than she bargained for.”

“But do you not make enough here?”

Rosita sighed and finally took a seat. She rested her elbows on the table and looked at Nicole with dark eyes. Her accent was not like Mercy’s or Wynonna’s. The vowels were flatter. American.

“Wynonna provides shelter, and food, and my family is dead so what more do I need? But for some of the girls, that’s not enough. And when it’s not enough…”

“But Willa was Wynonna’s sister,” Nicole said, thinking out loud.

“Her eldest sister, but the bar is Wynonna’s. Their mother made sure of it.”

“So Willa was…disgruntled? Jealous?”

Rosita picked up a piece of bread and tore it in two. She popped half into her mouth and chewed, letting Nicole wait in curious silence.

“Willa was Willa. Beautiful and full of rage.”

“But why…”

“Rosita!” Wynonna’s voice carried from the front of the room. Nicole grit her teeth.

“Boss is calling. Eat up, copper.”

Before Nicole could finish her question, Rosita was gone.

~*~

“You look dead on your feet.”

For the second time in as many minutes, Nicole was startled by a voice from elsewhere in the room. This time it came from John Henry who appeared with a cup of coffee in one hand. When he handed her the cup, she smiled up at the man she’d previously found suspicious.

“Oh, thank you! You’re a godsend.”

“Never ‘eard that one,” he said, his Irish lilt turning his words into a sing-song melody. He busied his now empty hands with a rag strung through his belt.

“I’m Nicole Haught.”

“Aye, I know. John Henry.”

“Mr. Henry, do you mind if I ask you a question or two?”

John scratched his cheek, his eyebrows furrowing in thought.

“I’m not the man you seek, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You were here then, the night Willa…”

Willa’s name made the man blanche. He frowned so deeply that Nicole worried he was about to lash out in violence.

“I was here.”

“And last ni…”

“I’m always here,” John said, “And Willa should have been too. We told her so many times, but the girl never listened to reason.”

“Was she upset that night?” Nicole was starting to see through the mysterious haze of Gibson’s. For all its theatrical grandeur on stage, Gibson’s was a hotbed of drama and intrigue behind the curtains.

John shrugged. Nicole was touched by his emotions. There were tears in his eyes, her first assumptions about him had been wrong. Plus, he made delectable bread she discovered as she popped a bight into her mouth while the man gathered himself.

“It is my job to protect them. From the men. From disease. And I failed that night.”

Nicole swallowed and tried to speak, but John Henry shook his head and _harrumphed_ visibly bristling in anger.

“Darling, you’re needed elsewhere.”

Big Nose Kate appeared at her husband’s elbow as if summoned. Her voice was deep, foreign, Nicole guessed somewhere in the east…Bohemia, perhaps. John looked over his shoulder towards the bar and then turned back to Nicole.

“I do apologize, Miss, but the lady of the house is destroying my bar.”

They all heard the crash of glass and Wynonna’s curse that followed.

“Thank you, Mr. Henry, for your honestly,” Nicole said.

John pointed to the coffee once and then Nicole, “Drink that. You look like death.”

He walked away without a second glance at his wife.

Kate quickly took his place, but sat down, languidly spreading her hands on the table and looking at Nicole with eyes that seemed older than her years.

Where the other employees of Gibson’s looked at Nicole as if they were all in on the same joke, Kate looked at her as if they’d met before. As if she could see every single thing that not even Nicole could see. Nicole took John Henry’s advice and sipped the coffee.

“Nicole Haught of Amherstburg,” Kate said.

“And you are Kate of…”

“Of here and there and everywhere.”

“I see.”

“Ask me your questions, Nicole Haught.”

“Leather apron?” Nicole saw no reason to start with small talk. She sipped her coffee again, trying not to gulp it down.

“What have the other girls said?”

Oh, it was to be a game. Nicole set down her cup and looked Kate in the eye.

“Have you seen him yourself?” She asked.

Kate shrugged and turned her face, as if the very idea was preposterous.

“I don’t need the streets, I have all that I need right here. So, no, I’ve not seen him. Heard of him, yes, but never seen him.”

Nicole made a note.

“You can believe Rosita. Mercy only sometimes,” Kate continued, “she does like the drink, you know…”

“And you, can I believe you?”

Kate smirked.

“That’s not for me to decide.”

Nicole reached for another slice of bread, nibbling it as she tried to figure out how best to get through Kate’s apathetic exterior.

“My husband is a man of many talents,” Kate said, watching Nicole eat. There was a flicker of something in her eye. Annoyance? Pride? Nicole decided to press it.

“It was very kind of him to off me food.”

“He has a weakness for women in need.” The edge in Kate’s voice let Nicole know that she was onto something.

“Any women in particular?”

Kate leaned back in her chair, sizing up Nicole. She pursed her lips and then shrugged.

“Rosita, sometimes. Wynonna, when she allows it.”

Nicole coughed.

“Wait, your husband and…”

“Gibson’s is more than a place of work, sweetheart, it’s a _family_ in more twisted ways than one.”

“And you…”

“Please, I am much too smart to entangle myself in…_that_.”

John Henry and Rosita. And Wynonna. But Dolls and Wynonna…

“Wynonna Earp is the sun, we just planets in her orbit,” Kate explained.

“And Mercy?” Nicole wanted to connect all the dots.

“Mercy has never met a bed she does not wish to sleep in,” Kate said.

“Goodness!”

Nicole felt herself blushing. Corpses and blood did not frighten her, but the complexities of love and sex were beyond her reach. She had always felt like a girl outside the window, looking in on the world. The dizzying web of Gibson’s overwhelmed her just a bit.

“There’s one person you’ve left out of your inquiry, _Inspector_,” Kate leaned forward on the table with her elbows. With one hand she reached into her shawl, bringing forward a deck of cards. Nicole straightened her back and tried to school her face into an expression of nonchalance.

“Very true. What about Waverly?”

Kate smiled to herself, shuffling the cards in her hand.

“Waverly Earp has herself an arrangement.”

“Oh?” Nicole felt sweat gather at her temples.

“A patron, if you will. The pay is good, the price for her…well, it keeps her safe, I suppose.”

“Charles Hardy?” Nicole already knew, she’d guessed by Waverly’s fine clothing that _someone_ was providing for her. But the idea of it…

“She is at his beck and call, but in returns she lives a comfortable existence.” The tone of Kate’s voice implied that it was not quite so comfortable as she implied.

Nicole frowned, the coffee sitting heavily in her stomach. She wanted desperately to itch the scar at her side.

“And what about Willa?” Nicole asked.

Kate shuffled the cards again and shrugged.

“What about Willa?” She echoed.

“Was she involved in all of…_this_?” Nicole waved her hands, trying to encompass Gibson’s or Waverly or everything and anything Kate just shared.

“Willa Earp was not an easy woman,” Kate said.

Not an easy woman. It was an odd thing to say. Nicole set down the crust in her hand and took a moment to look Kate in the eye.

“Why do you say that? Was she…”

“You ask the wrong questions, _Detective_. And you ask them of the wrong person.”

“But…”

“Pick three cards,” Kate said, spreading them before Nicole on the table in an arch.

“Wait, but, leather…”

“Enough. Three cards.”

Nicole frowned, but set her notebook down. She barely glanced at the cards offered before touching three with a tap of her fingertip. Kate pulled them towards her and set them on the table.

The Fool.

The Lovers.

The Tower.

“What does it mean?” Nicole asked.

“For that, my dear, you have to pay.”

Nicole was about to protest when a commotion forced everyone in the room to turn and look at the door.

“Nicole!” It was Xavier’s voice coming from down the hallway and by his tone, he was displeased.

“What is it?” She didn’t have time to stand from the table before he was next to her, dropping a newspaper in front of her. It nearly dislodged the coffee cup by her side. Kate made a hasty exit, gathering the cards and leaving so Xavier could sit down.

_STREET GANG TO BLAME FOR SLAYINGS_

“This is preposterous!” Nicole said, looking up. Xavier pointed at the paper again.

“Keep reading, it gets worse.”

“_The coroner reports that the body was disturbed by two paupers, eager for pay. They removed the woman’s clothing and discarded it, as if it was no more than daily laundry. Dr. Llwelleyn suggests this is police incompetence though the MET office was quick to dissuade such notions. Furthermore…_”

“They destroyed evidence?” Nicole felt fury bubbling in her stomach.

“Absolute incompetence!” Xavier said, echoing the article, “and a gang? I respect Appleby, but this is foolishness!”

“The cases are not related, to be sure. Did you speak to Abberline?

“Yes, yes, they have tracked the woman’s husband for proper identification of the body. It will take place tomorrow. But this is a mess, Nicole, a right mess.”

Wynonna appeared behind Xavier and leaned over his shoulder.

“Good work, coppers,” she said and Xavier turned to give her a stern look.

“If they would allow me into the mortuary.” Nicole began.

“You are not bringing my sister into a mortuary. Bad enough you have her drawing pretty pictures of ugly things,” Wynonna said.

“She has a good eye, Miss Earp, a fine eye for detail, but that’s…”

“She has a good many things.” Wynonna leaned her arm on Xavier’s shoulder and this time he shrugged her off.

“Enough. _Enough_. There is nothing more we can do tonight. Nicole, I’ll see you early tomorrow morning,” Xavier stood, snatching the newspaper from Nicole’s hand. He was clearly frustrated, and Nicole had seen him quite like this before. She nodded at her friend and closed her own notebook.

“Xavier, off so soon?” Wynonna’s nonchalance faltered and Nicole had to hide a little smile in victory. The cool, cruel Wynonna Earp had a weak spot for her best friend.

“I am tired, _Miss_ Earp,” Xavier said. He perched his bowler hat on his head and stormed out of the room. It was more dramatic than Nicole had ever seen him, but he was living amongst whores and charlatans and enough sin that Nicole’s father would insist on burning the place to the ground. It was a dark thought that Nicole tried to shake it off quickly.

“He’ll be back. You’ll see,” Nicole said, trying to calm the situation. Wynonna turned back to her, a wounded lioness ready to fight.

“You know his so well, do you?”

“Of course. I’ve known Xavier since we were children.”

“You cannot know a person until you see them brought to their knees in pleasure by your hand, not that you would know _anything_ about that.”

It was sharp and to the point and Nicole felt it pierce her deepest shame.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Nicole said, gathering her notebook and the last crust of break, “I have work to do upstairs.”

She rushed out the door, faster than Xavier had moments before, but she knew that Wynonna had caught her blush. She knew that Wynonna had, once again, seen too much.

Nicole was grateful for the abandoned staircase ahead. In the dark, her cheeks were not so red.

~*~

She didn’t pause on the second-floor landing. The thought of Waverly preparing herself for the evening ahead made Nicole feel a little sick, so she carried on in the darkness, reaching down with one hand to pull her shirt from her trousers and finally scratch the scar.

Nicole absentmindedly made her way upstairs and it wasn’t until she reached her attic room that she realized there was a light coming from under the doorway. Did she leave a candle lit all day? The thought of a fire made her breathing shaky.

Pushing the door open, it took a moment to realize what she was seeing. Waverly sat on her bed, dressed in a robe and a shawl. The intruder looked up, her face very much a study in surprise, and Nicole let out a short _yelp!_ In shock.

“Waverly?”

“Oh, Nicole, I’m so sorry to startle you!”

Waverly Earp sitting on _her_ bed. Alone. It was enough to startle anyone.

  
“Are you quite alright? This morning was likely difficult,” Nicole asked, dropping her notebook and a slice of bread on the small desk. She crossed the room and gingerly sat next to Waverly on the bed, trying hard not to inhale the light perfume wafting from the woman beside her.

“Oh, that was fine.”

“Fine? It was…horrible.”

“Well, yes, but I like feeling useful, being in the thick of it, as it were…”

Nicole nodded, understanding completely.

“The investigation is already bungled,” Nicole said, confessing. She wasn’t sure why she felt she could tell Waverly what she was thinking, but the room was dark save a single candle on the bedside table and the shadows made her feel safe. Waverly’s face was hidden by the same shadows, her cheekbones casting darkness over her features, but it was not frightening. Nicole wondered if she looked the same to Waverly.

“The evidence, you mean?” Waverly asked.

“You’ve already ready the paper?”

“I do love the stories, I never miss one.”

Nicole recalled the open newspaper in Waverly’s room from the day before.

“Ah, yes, Spring-heeled Jack and Varney the Vampire?” Nicole smiled.

“Varney the Vampire? I’ve not heard of that one!”

“It’s quite old. I saw it in a book once.”

The two women sat in companionable silence, their shared interest settling over them like a first snow. 

It was Waverly who broke the silence, shifting just a little in her seat to pull the shawl tighter around her shoulders.

“My sister said you were interviewing the girls. I thought I’d come see if you’d like to speak with me,” she said, explaining her presence.

Nicole didn’t rise to retrieve her notebook. Instead she nodded once and thought briefly of Kate’s words.

_You ask the wrong questions_.

“Would you tell me about your sister? Willa?”

Waverly exhaled and Nicole had the urge to wrap an arm around the smaller woman beside her. She dared not even think of it a second longer.

“Willa was the eldest, as I’m sure you know.”

“Yes. And she worked here? Or did she own Gibson’s before…”

“No,” Waverly said, “Wynonna’s name has been on the deed since Mama left.”

“Your mother is still alive?” Nicole had assumed that the Earp’s mother was long gone. Her daughters were self-sufficient, and Wynonna ran a successful business. Surely a woman would never willingly abandon someone like Waverly…

“Ha! Very much so! She tours American with a Wild West show as a sharp-shooter and cattle rustler.”

Nicole smiled at the thought.

“Really? But you and Wynonna are here…”

“Yes, I realize it’s not traditional, but Mama ran into some trouble here and it’s best she’s away. I do miss her, but I understand.”

The longing in Waverly’s voice indicated that it was a well-practiced sentiment, though not entirely believed.

“And your father?”

Waverly shifted again.

“My father is dead. As is Wynonna’s father.”

_Interesting_.

“I am sorry to hear that,” Nicole said.

“I am…not. At least not about Wynonna’s father. I never knew my father. Mama said he was a travelling preacher, but he died before I was born.”

“And Will and Wynonna had the same father?”

“Yes. He was a hard man. And an angry man. And when mama came home with me, he agreed to take me in, but not to raise me.”

Nicole looked at Waverly’s face. In the shadows she could see the hard set of Waverly’s jaw, the anger in her eyes.

“My father was a preacher too,” Nicole said, surprising herself by sharing.

“And what did he make of you?” Waverly playfully pulled at Nicole’s shirtsleeve.

“He was baffled by me,” Nicole said, “and disappointed too.”

Her answer seemed to surprise Waverly who looked at Nicole with a thoughtful expression.

“Then he is a fool, if you’ll forgive my saying it.”

“He would say it bodes ill to speak of the dead, but I find myself not caring,” Nicole said.

“Oh, Nicole, I am sorry, I…”

The topic of her parents was not something she wanted to discuss, especially with Waverly Earp. She subconsciously reached down to scratch at her scar again, but this time Waverly noticed her movement.

“Goodness! Are you hurt?” Waverly batted Nicole’s hand away and lifted her hem just a little. The room was dark, but Nicole felt herself panic at the idea of Waverly seeing the patch of mottled skin.

“I’m fine. Honestly, just fine,” She said, pulling her shirt down. Their fingers brushed and Nicole fought the urge to jump from the bed.

“I’ve upset you.” Waverly’s voice was quiet, hesitant, and Nicole turned to her, offering a small smile.

“No, families are…complicated.”

“That I understand,” Waverly said.

“May I ask more about Willa?”

Waverly nodded.

“Did she…I mean, her father was cruel to you?”

The question hung in the air between them and only belatedly did Nicole realize how personal it was, how intrusive. Waverly answered before Nicole could take it back.

“Yes, you could say he was cruel. As was Willa,” Waverly began, “I am not the only beaten child all grown up here at Gibson’s, many had it worse than just a beating, but he tolerated my presence to a point. And after Mama left, I was no more than a stray dog to him. Without Wynonna I do not think I would be alive.”

Nicole knew too well the hard hand of an unloving father. But the idea of someone hurting Waverly weighed on her. Waverly who even in the shadows brought light to the room.

“I am sorry, Waverly,” Nicole said, unsure why she felt the need to apologize. Waverly shrugged.

“He came after me one night with a belt in his hand, drunk as always. Wynonna took our mother’s gun, the one she brought from America, and killed him. She heard me screaming, I still bare the scar, but Wynonna…”

“She killed her own father?” Nicole asked.

Waverly nodded and the look she gave Nicole was a challenge. It was brave to tell Nicole such information, brave and a little reckless.

“With the gun she still wears on her hip,” Waverly said.

“Perhaps I misjudged your sister.” Nicole met Waverly’s eyes and the two shared an entire conversation in one look. It was an unspoken covenant, a silent agreement. Nicole was a police officer, or as close as one could get to being a police officer. But she would not betray Waverly’s trust. And she would not betray Wynonna for to betray Wynonna would be to betray Waverly.

“Willa was wild and free and reckless. So was Wynonna. But when Mama left, she made sure the bar was in Wynonna’s name and then when Wynonna chose me over Ward…Willa was never the same and the opium made her worse,” Waverly said.

“Is that why she took to the streets so often?”

“Perhaps. Wynonna treated her well, but Willa was drawn to the darkness.”

“Was there anyone in particular? Did she have…an arrangement?”

Waverly clenched her jaw.

“We are not all so _lucky_,” she said.

Nicole sensed that Waverly did not want to speak about this any further.

“Have you heard of leather apron, Waverly?” Nicole asked instead, taking the focus off Willa.

“I have no need to visit the streets, so I did not seem him. But Mercy did. And Willa, though I do not know what passed between them. Wynonna may know more.”

The candle flickered from some unseen gust of wind and both women shuddered.

“Thank you, Waverly,’ Nicole said, wanting to take Waverly’s hand, but fearing to do so.

“I think you will catch him, Nicole. Willa may have been a cruel sister, but I did love her in my own way,” Waverly said.

“Thank you for your help this morning too, your work is so important.”

Nicole’s words brought a small smile to Waverly’s face.

“You are a kind person, Nicole Haught, I can tell about people.”

This time it was Nicole’s turn to offer a small grin.

“Will you be performing tonight?” Nicole asked.

Waverly rose from the bed, tightening the shawl around her shoulders.

“Not tonight, I must be away for a private affair. But tomorrow. Are you disappointed?” Waverly’s hand rested on Nicole’s arm, her palm warm in the cool room.

“I am,” Nicole said, honestly, looking into Waverly’s eyes.

“You are sweet.”

“Waverly?”

“Yes?”

“Swear to me you will not go out alone. To the streets. Tell the other girls too, it is not safe.”

Waverly squeezed Nicole’s arm once more and nodded before taking her leave, disappearing through the door into the gloomy hallway.

The phantom heat of Waverly’s fingers stayed with Nicole long after the candle burned out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love!


	4. Creatures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Assault

“Wynonna is going to string me up for this!”

Waverly’s foot settled into Nicole’s palms and with a quick heave, Nicole boosted her over the ledge. She watched as Waverly climbed through an open window and then turned to Dolls who looked just as nervous as Nicole felt.

“Be quick, Nicole,” he said, offering his hands to help her climb after Waverly.

“Two knocks mean someone is coming, three someone is here,” Nicole responded. Dolls nodded once and then Nicole reached for the open window and hauled herself up.

The mortuary was dark save for the lantern Dolls handed Nicole as she balanced in the windowsill and she prayed it would not bring any unwanted attention.

Stumbling through the window, Nicole nearly fell on top of Waverly in the small space, but quickly rolled her body, landing with barely a sound on the stone floor. The smell hit her immediately.

“Heavens,” she whispered, reaching for the handkerchief in her pocket. She handed it to Waverly who pressed it to her nose.

The room smelled like death and rot and standing water. A body lay on the stone slab in the centre of the space and even in the darkness they could see the stark white of the sheet which preserved the corpse’s dignity.

Another body had been found in the early hours of the day. By the time Nicole and Dolls heard the news, a crowd of hundreds had gathered around the scene. And when Dolls was told that once more, the body had been accidentally stripped and washed before the coroner could file his report, Nicole insisted on an evening reconnaissance mission.

Lowering her cap further over her eyes, Nicole circled the corpse and set her lantern down on the corner of the table. She gingerly removed the shroud, revealing the pale body of Annie Chapman.

If Waverly was disturbed, she did not show it, instead setting to her work. Her notebook and pencils emerged from the small bag she carried around her and Nicole took a moment to appreciate Waverly’s sensible fashion choice for the evening. The woman had an outfit for all occasions. She had been eager to join Dolls and Nicole and emerged from her room in breaches, riding boots, and a smart wool coat.

“Is the light enough?” Nicole asked. Waverly nodded solemnly, her hand already moving across the page.

From observation, Nicole could see the horrendous indecencies done to the body. Each cut was meticulous, purposeful. The woman before them was not even fifty, but already a picture of her life was emerging from those who knew her. It had been a hard existence, she toiled, but she lived, just as any of them lived.

Yet some phantom in the shadows chose her for his work. Some fiendish devil plucked her out of the many.

“There was a witness who saw her in a fight with another woman,” Nicole said, wanting to fill in the quiet.

“Apparently over a bar of soap,” Waverly mumbled, circling the table to get a different angle.

Nicole wasn’t sure if it was proper to speak in the mortuary. Annie Chapman deserved more dignity than they were giving her, but Nicole swore to herself that there was a reason for this intrusion. If she was not allowed to attend the coroner’s report, she had to find information her own way. And the more information she found, the closer she would be to catching this monster.

She glanced at Annie Chapman’s still face and made a silent apology and a solemn oath.

“I think I have the lines of it,” Waverly said after a few minutes.

Nicole pulled the sheet back over the body and rested one hand gently on the now-covered forehead of the woman on the table. When Waverly’s hand found the back of Nicole’s neck seconds later, she jumped.

“You spend your time in darkness, Nicole,” Wavelry said, her fingers briefly playing with the short hairs at the base of Nicole’s skull. Waverly’s fingers were gone before Nicole could say a word.

“Let’s get Xavier home,” Nicole responded, “he’ll be half frozen by now.”

Waverly turned once more to the body before reaching for Nicole’s offered hand.

“Poor, dear,” she said.

~*~

Wynonna was halfway down the stairs when their carriage pulled up to Gibson’s. Waverly had spent the short ride busy with her sketchbook, but at the sight of her sister, she hastily shoved the drawing in her bag.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Wynonna asked, pulling open the carriage door before it came to a full stop.

“Sorry, sorry,” Wavery mumbled, neatly leaping past her sister. Xavier climbed out next and then Nicole was left, trying to hide behind her friend to avoid Waverly’s sister.

“Whose idea was this?” Wynonna pointed an accusatory finger at Xavier and at Nicole.

They both shrugged and shuffled their feet and Waverly stifled a giggle.

“You all smell like rot!”

“Wynonna, it’s fine, we’ll…”

“No, Waverly, it’s not fine. Get inside this instant and have Gus launder your things,” Wynonna said.

Waverly stuck her tongue out when Wynonna’s back was turned and then scurried through the door.

“Wynonna, nothing is amiss,” Xavier said, taking Wynonna’s arm. She pulled away.

“This is a business. This is not a game,” she began and then promptly stopped speaking when a second carriage approached the sidewalk.

It was a fine rig, driven by a groom in full livery. Nicole thought it looked out of place in Whitechapel amongst the beggars and street merchants. It looked clean and new and Nicole immediately had a guess who was inside.

A tall, thin man in tweed hopped down from next to the driver and opened the carriage door, revealing Charles Hardy III.

“Miss Earp, I do hope she’s ready,” Hardy said, barely offering Xavier a glance.

“She will be. Just dinner tonight, Lord Hardy?”

“Yes, yes, Robert?” Hardy turned towards the man in tweed, offering him a pair of gloves and the top hat on his head.

“Shall I wait with the carriage, Sir?”

“Heavens no, good man! Come inside with the rest of the riff raff!” Charles Hardy’s teeth were too big for his mouth, too white, and Nicole wondered what potion he’d used to get them so blinding. It was as if her silent thoughts summoned his attention because he suddenly turned to her, raising the cane in his hand slightly.

“What is this?” He asked, the shining grin too wide.

“I’m Nicole Haught,” Nicole said, unsure if she should offer her hand.

“It’s a girl! Robert! Look!”

Robert offered Nicole a sidelong glance but said nothing.

“Is she for the stage! Oh, I do love a good pantomime dame! Though I suppose you’d be a pantomime _duke_? How clever!”

Nicole grit her teeth and straightened her back.

“I’m not part of the show, sir, I’m here on po…”

“Now, Lord Hardy, let us go in. The weather is about to turn,” Wynonna said, catching Hardy’s attention.

“Not with the show? I think I’d like to see you in a show. With Waverly, yes, I think I’d like that _indeed_.”

“Lord Hardy?” Wynonna tried again and this time the young man turned on his heels, his velvet waistcoat catching the light of the streetlamp. Charles Hardy was all show. From his gold rings to his gold pocket watch to the gold pin on his cravat. Nicole disliked him immediately.

She watched as he followed Wynonna up the stairs, displeased by his presence.

“Lady’s first,” a thin, willowy voice came from behind Nicole and she turned to find Hardy’s man, Robert, blinking at her.

“That’s quite all right, Sir.”

“Svain. Robert Svain,” he said.

“Very well, Svain.”

He shrugged and followed his master through the doors.

“You mustn’t take it all so personally,” Xavier said, but Nicole frowned and shrugged.

“How can I not? Don’t you?”

“I’d get nothing done if I fought every battle.”

Nicole took one last look at Xavier and followed Svain inside. She didn’t go to the dance hall, nor did she stop on the second-floor landing. She ignored Xavier as he called after her and instead happily climbed the stairs to her room, revelling in the quiet.

There was a sketch on her bed of Annie Chapman’s body, drawn in such clear detail that it could have been a photograph.

Nicole sat down next to it and inhaled sharply, pretending she could still detect the faintest hint of Waverly’s perfume.

~*~

“Let’s go over it again.”

Time did not exist in Dolls’ underground office.

Nicole had no idea if it was day or night, all she knew was that they were no closer to an answer than they had been hours before. She blinked wearily, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand before looking at the documents again.

They had cleared the table of all extra ephemera. Only three papers remained.

The photograph of Willa Earp.

The sketch of Mary Nichols.

The sketch of Annie Chapman.

Dolls had acquired a large slate and had set it in the corner.

“All crimes committed at night,” he said.

“No witnesses, at least, not directly,” Nicole mused, eyes darting between the pictures.

“All three victims women, prostitutes…”

Dolls wrote “women” and “prostitutes” on the slate.

“All three victims suffered wounds to the neck and abdomen,” Nicole said. She paused checking her notebook.

“Not just abdomen,” she began, “disembowelment, removal of internal organs, specifically the uterus.”

“I do wish they’d photographed the crime scenes,” Dolls said.

“They do the minimum and you know why.” Nicole briefly looked up, her eyes lingering on the word _prostitute_, stark and white in Xavier’s neat print.

“The papers are running wild with it. Did you see they published an article about Leather Apron? All of London is calling for justice.”

“There is something to these cuts, Xavier,” Nicole said.

“Knife wounds, surely.”

“Yes, but look at the precision.”

Dolls crossed the room and looked down at the table.

“You think he has knowledge of anatomy?”

“Certainly. These women were not savagely maimed, not exactly…”

“A surgeon? Or anatomist?”

The thought of a learned man preying on society’s most vulnerable set Nicole’s teeth on edge. She leaned back, stretching, trying to ignore the stitch in her neck that would not go away.

“Xavier, they are searching for Whitechapel’s common thugs when we may be dealing with someone that does not even live here. Someone who comes here to go unnoticed in his daily life.”

Dolls sunk into a chair, equally tired.

When the door creaked open seconds later, they both startled and winced, the sudden intrusion of sunlight a marked change from the gloom.

“Yoo hoo!” Waverly Earp’s voice rang out and Nicole found herself smiling for the first time since Annie Chapman’s body was found.

“Hello, Waverly,” Xavier said.

Waverly appeared much as she had on the morning of Mary Nicholl’s murder. Her wool coat was buttoned to the neck, but today she had chosen a hat, pinned delicately to her hair. In one hand she held a basket, carefully covered and her face was so cheery that Nicole wondered if she was a mirage.

“You two have been down here for a full day! John has sent some food,” she said, setting her basket on the table. The scent of freshly baked scones replaced the mildew and cold stone aroma.

“We really should go outside,” Xavier said, helping himself to food. He looked especially pleased to see a bottle of wine set amongst the baked good.

“Hmmph.” Nicole was pleased to see Waverly, but she was also frustrated with their progress.

“Have you seen the latest?” Waverly asked, setting down a newspaper.

_George Lusk, Local Businessmen, Creates Whitechapel Vigilance Committee_

“Who is George Lusk?” Nicole asked, eyeing the paper with disinterest.

“Businessman, in the restoration trade, I believe,” Dolls said, taking the broadsheet from Nicole’s hand.

“So, more men paroling the street,” Nicole sighed, “But more opportunities to destroy evidence.”

Nicole turned her attention back to the images on the table, tuning out whatever response Dolls and Waverly offered. She needed to understand what she was looking at, she needed to know what to look for. There were similarities between all three victims, obvious similarities, but looking at the obvious was getting them nowhere.

Instead, Nicole perched her chin in her hand and let her mind wander. She stared vaguely at the wall, unaware of anything but the words on the slate that she kept rolling over, again and again, as if they would unravel and reveal something new.

Why the disembowelment? It was excessive, as were all things associated with the case, but to perform such degradation to a body. To remove and take body parts…

“I cannot see my heart,” Nicole said, pressing her hand against her chest.

“What?” Xavier paused his conversation with Waverly.

“I cannot see my heart, yet I know it is there. I have never seen it, nor will I. Nor will anyone else,” Nicole dropped her hands to the newly sketched image of Annie Chapman.

“He wants to _see_ them in a way that only he can see them. It is an intimacy beyond anything possible while they live. Unnatural and depraved as it is, this is how he claims them. They are his.”

Nicole slowly raised her head, still in a daze, and found Waverly and Xavier staring at her.

“I told you,” he whispered, reaching out to poke Waverly’s elbow.

“How do you understand such things?” Waverly asked, clearly awestruck by Nicole’s insightfulness.

Nicole shrugged, standing from the table.

“We are looking for a man skilled in anatomy, a man who loathes women and preys on the weakest of them, those who rely on the drink as a crutch. Perhaps he has a domineering wife or mother, a woman who has made him feel small or helpless, perhaps he has lost a wife or a sister…nevertheless, he is a man who wishes to possess women,” Nicole said.

“Anything else, Nicole?” Xavier spoke softly, clearly wishing to preserve Nicole’s state for as long as possible.

“He may be sexually troubled. Or maybe he cannot father children, or his wife had children with another man. The focus on the uterus, the ovaries, the means of production…he is fixated.”

“I will take this to Abberline myself,” Xavier said, “straight away!”

Nicole blinked heavily, about to speak again, when they all heard the hard press of boots above their heads. It was impossible to decipher words from the general shouts coming from upstairs, but something had certainly occurred.

Nicole tossed the three documents on the table into a satchel before following Waverly and Xavier up the stairs, blinking again in the sudden light of the afternoon. The police station was swarmed with constables, each one shouting louder than the last. And by the door, Seargeant Thick held a short man by one arm, hollering at the top of his lungs.

“I’ve made an arrest!” He said.

“I’m innocent! I’ve nothing to do with this!” The man in question was short, his hair dark, and Nicole could hear his clearly accented English from the back of the room.

“Sergeant there is no evidence!” This was Dr. Munro, lead investigator on the case.

“He is Leather Apron! John Pizer is leather apron! That’s what they call him! And he stabbed a man just last year!” Sergeant Thick argued and the constables around him cheered again.

“This was not a simple stabbing!” Nicole wasn’t sure what prompted her to call out, but she could see just from the prisoner’s stature that he could not be the culprit. The man was short, his fingers stout and calloused from hard labour. He was not an anatomist and he did not look strong enough to savage three women as the killer hand.

“He’s a Jew! He’s drinking their blood for his Sabbath wine!” Came the response and Nicole looked over to see a young constable pointing towards the accused.

“That’s a filthy thing to say!” She said.

“Who let the Jack speak?”

Nicole felt herself launch forward, her hands reaching for the offending officer and then Xavier had her around the middle, pulling her away.

“Not like this,” he hissed in her ear.

As Xavier escorted from the building before the mob gathered, Nicole did not notice the look Waverly gave her. If she had she would have seen admiration and respect and something ineffable that only Waverly understood. But Nicole was too busy fighting Xavier’s grasp to recognize the change in Waverly Earp. It would not have made any difference to her fury.

~*~

Nicole dangled her legs off the countertop, eager to catch John Henry’s attention. She knew bothering him during dinner hour was a risk, but the argument at the police station had her fired up and she needed to do something, anything, to feel like the case was still in her control.

John Pizer had two alibies that absolved him of all wrongdoing. Nicole heard the news as Xavier practically pushed her into Gibson’s doorway. Even Waverly tried to calm her, but Nicole was having none of it. She was tired of feeling like the bottom rung of an endless ladder.

She adjusted one strap of her suspenders, easing the tension against her shoulder, and then waved John over after he poured a pint.

“Mr. Henry, so sorry to bother you,” Nicole said. John Henry shrugged, stepping away from the bar and into the small kitchen. It smelled like bacon grease and boiled potatoes and Nicole wondered if she could sneak some for her supper.

“Speak fast before Wynonna finds you,” John said, both hands settling on his hips. Nicole understood and handed John the sketch of Annie Chapman. She decided to keep the photograph of Willa to herself.

“Tell me, as a doctor, do these incisions look to be the work of an amateur?”

“Good lord, Miss Haught, some warning!” John blanched, but eyed the image, keeping it at arm’s length, as if to distance himself from the horrors. He squinted and crinkled his nose.

“It looks proper, like an autopsy, and if the organs were removed as you say…”

“With precision, yes.”

“Well, disembowelling is not an easy task. I saw it in Edinburgh once, at Surgeons’ Hall. When it comes to opening a body, you must know what you’re looking for, how it all…connects, as it were,” John said.

“So an untrained hand would make a mess of it?”

“I’d say this is a mess, wouldn’t you, Miss. Haught?” John handed back the picture.

“Of course, of course it is, but you understand my meaning?”

John nodded.

“I do,” He replied and then grumbled.

“Hey! Copper!” Wynonna peaked her head through the door, exasperation in her tone.

“Sorry, sorry!” Nicole said, knowing she had crossed a line.

“I’ve got a room full of thirsty customers and you’re back here distracting my bartender!”

Nicole gathered her documents and shoved them back into her satchel. Before she could push past John Henry, he thrust a bowl of mash and bacon into her hands. Everyone at Gibson’s seemed to want to feed her.

“Back of the room, with you!” Wynonna called and Nicole obeyed, the adrenaline of her day and John’s affirmation setting her at nearly a run.

She crashed into the chair opposite Xavier, who was scratching at his beard and distractedly looking at the stage.

“Henry agrees with us about the incisions,” she said, spooning mash into her mouth.

“You eat like a starving urchin, Nicole,” Xavier teased. Nicole shrugged, but kept eating.

“You’re onto the scent,” Xavier continued, “A step closer than we were yesterday. But you really must avoid making such scenes. It’s hard enough getting information from the Met…they’re barely allow us to work, as it is.”

“I’m sorry, Xavier,” Nicole said, “I just get so mad. It’s not fair.”

“Hmmm,” was all Xavier said back. He returned to the evening’s paper and Nicole concentrated on her meal, letting the anxiety of the day course through her veins. She had felt so much in such a short amount of time. The potatoes were heavy in her stomach and the bacon was too greasy, but at least it was warm. So little was in her life.

When Mercy introduced the Angel of Whitechapel, Nicole forced herself to keep eating. Waverly was a co-worker, possibly a friend, and Nicole wanted to respect their newfound relationship. There was no need to venture off in a fit of fantasy. It was wrong and it was a waste of time. She suddenly found her meal very interesting.

The crowd cheered and Waverly’s voice playfully invited them to join her as she always did. When Nicole turned to look, she blushed profusely, taking in Waverly’s gauzy pink gown. It would look appropriate on any young debutante, except most young debutants wore corsets beneath their clothing. Waverly chose not to and the material was sheer and tight against her breasts. It was a purposeful look, the juxtaposition of her wide pink skirts and the see-through sleeves and bodice, accompanied by a delicate parasol Waverly leaned against her shoulder.

Nicole wanted to look away. She knew she had to look away. But she could not. Not when Waverly started singing and not when Charles Hardy tossed a rose at the stage before she even began the final verse.

Waverly twirled, the parasol set once more against her, and her face caught the lights. She looked young and carefree and there was an ever-present laugh in her voice. Nicole wondered if it was real.

_Now, if I were a Duchess and had a lot of money,_

_I’d give it to the boy that’s going to marry me._

_But I haven’t got a penny, so we’ll live on love and kisses,_

_And be just as happy as the birds on the tree._

Charles stood, this time throwing coins towards the stage, which Waverly skipped toward. She giggled and sighed and slowly held one of the coins to the light before playfully setting it between her teeth. The crowd cheered and then laughed when she exaggeratedly tucked the money into her gown. It slipped through the front and down through her skirts and the jingle it made as it landed on the stage made the entire room roar in laughter.

Nicole watched, unsure if she should laugh too. Waverly was a talented performer, she could convince any of the men in the room to rob the crown right off the Queen’s head with merely a suggestion, but how much of it _was_ a performance? Some of it? All of it?

_The boy I love is up in the gallery,_

_The boy I love is looking now at me,_

_There he is, can’t you see, waving his handkerchief,_

_As merry as a robin that sings on a tree!_

Each man in the room waved their handkerchief as Waverly finished her song. It was charming, in a well-practiced, expected way, and Nicole finally allowed herself a small smirk. Waverly started the final chorus once more, encouraging her audience to sing-along.

As Nicole watched, expecting Waverly to play the lyrics towards Charles, she was startled to find Waverly’s gaze on her. It was difficult to tell with the lights and the crowd, but Waverly’s eyes were not focused on the front table, but on the back of the room, exactly where Nicole was sitting.

_The boy I love is up in the gallery,_

_The boy I love is looking now at me_…

~*~

It had been five days since John Pizer’s arrest and release and for five days, Nicole did not leave the basement office. She washed in a basin Xavier kept filled for her and ate from a few scraps she kept in her pocket, but otherwise, her mind turned over the facts over and over, unable to stop pondering the case.

With her sleeves rolled up and elbows on the table, Nicole set her face in her hands and sighed heavily. The images of Willa and the other victims swam before her vision, their final, painful moments haunting her thoughts.

“Nicole?”

Waverly’s voice startled her, but Nicole was pleased to hear it. She had no idea what time it was, but she’d been avoiding Gibson’s and its distractions for nearly a week, so seeing Waverly felt like a reward for her self-imposed purgatory.

“Hello, Miss Earp!” Nicole called, smiling as Waverly sauntered down the steps. She was wearing her coat and with her hair pinned beneath a jaunty hat, Nicole wondered if Waverly was busy running errands.

“_Miss Earp_, well I’ll never tire of it!”

“Then I’ll never stop saying it,” Nicole said, so happy to see Waverly that she forgot her customary shyness in front of her. Besides, Nicole was starting to feel like she knew Waverly, like maybe they were friendly colleagues, and despite her personal thoughts on the woman, personal thoughts that she dared not acknowledge, Waverly was a bright presence in an otherwise dark world.

“Charmer,” Waverly responded, presenting Nicole with an orange from her coat pocket. Nicole nearly lunged at it.

“Find your coat, darling, I’m taking you out,” Waverly folded her arms across her chest.

Nicole lowered the orange.

“I can’t, Waverly, the work…”

“Will wait. When’s the last time you saw sunlight?”

“Uhhh…”

“Precisely. Come, come, coat on. Where’s your hat? Let me fix your braid.” Waverly circled the table and with a hand on Nicole shoulder, pushed Nicole into the chair. Nicole concentrated on peeling her orange, trying to ignore the feel of Waverly’s fingers in her hair. It was almost therapeutic, the softness of fingertips, the snag of a short nail, Nicole tried not to close her eyes or let out any sound.

When was the last time she had been touched with any gentleness? She could not recall and Waverly’s closeness, the way she hummed a little as she worked, melted something inside Nicole that she had not known was frozen.

“There we go!” Waverly said, playfully tugging Nicole’s ears before setting Nicole’s cap atop her head and tucking the brain underneath. Nicole quickly re-arranged the wistful expression on her face and turned, offering Waverly a smile.

“And what makes you think I’ll leave?” She asked, pleased when Waverly blushed just a little.

“Because I asked.”

“Are you that powerful, Waverly Earp?” Nicole was already standing, reaching for her coat.

“Exceedingly so!”

Nicole believed it, but decided not to say that out loud. She blew out the candles and decided a short reprieve would do her well. She was going in circles, she needed a different perspective and Dolls was busy in discussions with Inspector Abberline.

Leaving the basement, Nicole blinked at the sudden influx of light and Waverly laughed, tucking her hand into Nicole’s elbow. The inspector on duty frowned at the two and Nicole could hear him grumbling but was unsure what he said. She tensed, ready to inquire, but Waverly squeezed, and Nicole decided to forget it.

The street was busy, but Waverly weaved in and out of the crowd with practiced ease. She kept her hand tucked into Nicole’s arm and they walked, coupled, enjoying each other’s company. Nicole wondered if people were staring, if this was normal in any way, but it felt so natural, as if Waverly had always been at her side, gently guiding her to and fro.

Waverly pointed at different landmarks, her light voice musically emphasizing different buildings and vendors as they walked.

“Oh, you must try this!” She’d say, dragging Nicole down an alley where they purchased a meat pie or “Look! The statue is showing its bottom!” and Nicole would look up and laugh at a gargoyle perched in frozen perversity.

She had been so focused on her work, so consumed by blood and death, that seeing London through Waverly’s eyes was a revelation. Waverly’s gloved hand kept her arm warm and Waverly’s voice kept a smile on Nicole’s face.

It was thirty minutes into their stroll, while Nicole was looking at a particularly ornate fountain across the road that Waverly tugged on her arm a little.

“How did you do that?” She asked, quietly.

“Do what?” Nicole asked.

“How you knew…about the insides,” Waverly said, pressing her hand to her own chest.

Nicole shrugged a little in thought.

“I just have these ideas sometimes, when the clues are in front of me or when I start thinking beyond what’s there and they come together…I can’t quite explain it.”

“Have you always been like this?” Waverly’s question contained a certain amount of awe that Nicole wasn’t sure she entirely deserved.

“It’s how Xavier and I used to work back home. They barely allowed him into the office, but he’d gather what he could and bring it to me. We’d crack the case together and then he’d present it to another inspector…they’d take the credit, but we knew it was us.”

“Mostly you,” Waverly admonished.

“Xavier is a skilled police officer.” Nicole felt the need to defend her friend even though Waverly’s comment was harmless.

“Yes, but what you did…I’ve never seen someone do that.”

Nicole smiled down at Waverly and shrugged again, surprised to see a blush on Waverly’s cheeks. It was likely just the cold.

They continued walking in companionable silence and Nicole wondered what they looked like to those around them. In her over-sized coat and hat, Nicole’s shape was well hidden and Waverly was so petite and well dress that maybe they looked like…

Nicole shooed away the thought before it could fully form. There was nothing untoward about two women taking a stroll. If anything, Waverly strolling alone would have been cause for upset, so Nicole’s presence was really just making everything acceptable and proper. She liked that idea. It pleased her.

“Wherever are you taking me, Miss Earp?” Nicole asked as they rounded yet another corner. The streets had long since become wider, the people dressed in fine tweeds and wools. There were no more young children running about in torn shoes or sellers hawking their wares in languages Nicole did not recognized. This part of London felt clean, the buildings white and bold, protected by trees whose leaves were brilliant shades of red and orange.

“Here,” Wavery said, pointing across the street. Nicole felt her smile grow wider.

“What is it?”

The building was massive, a neo-classical structure complete with pillars and ornamental carvings.

“It’s the British Museum.”

“Really?” Nicole felt as excited as a child.

“No, Nicole, it’s the city gaol…”

“Am I…I mean, my clothing…” Nicole belatedly realized that she was wearing the clothes of a commoner. Her jacket had a patched elbow and her shoes were noticeably scuffed.

“You look fine, my dearest, let’s go look at wonders,” Waverly said, leading Nicole by the arm. Waverly fit in well with the other patrons, but Nicole decided to trust her.

The entrance to the museum opened onto a wide, cavernous room, topped with a dome and statues. Nicole could barely believe her eyes, her gaze following the height of the vast space towards the heavens. She looked to the left and the right, unsure where to start, when she was suddenly faced with an enormous pile of bones.

“Is this a dinosaur?” She gasped, pointing at the beast.

“Indeed! Marvelous, is it not?”

Nicole couldn’t say a word as Waverly pulled her into a side chamber. There were numerous items in glass cabinets and drawers. Insects and pottery shards and ancient weapons. Nicole could not see enough. She moved from case to case, gasping or questioning and Waverly was always there beside her, equally delighted.

They paused before a small crowd, jostling there way between men in tall hats and women standing on their toes. Waverly whispered, “it’s the Rosetta Stone” and Nicole tried to read the placard before her. The immense piece of granite was protected behind glass and two men in turbans stood on either side, guarding the treasure.

“What is it?” Nicole asked, unable to read any of the stone’s writing.

“It’s how they came to understand hieroglyphics! See the bottom is in ancient Greek and the middle in an ancient Egyptian dialect. I cannot speak it, but I’ve some of the Greek and…”

“You understand ancient Greek?” Nicole turned from the stone, delighted. Waverly nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes! Not as good as my Latin or Italian, but I work on it when I can.”

Nicole could only smile in response. Waverly Earp was extraordinary.

“Come this way,” Waverly finally said and Nicole was only too happy to follow. Her mind was full of statuary and paintings from the far east and the dusty, frozen visage of a mummy that made her feel just the slightest bit sad for the poor sod. Waverly brought them back to the main entrance, but walked into the domed room this time, pushing open a door Nicole hadn’t seen.

And then she was surrounded by books. Towers of books. Shelves that reached to the top of the domed ceiling full of books. The room was quiet and inhabited by men in grey jackets, but the wonder on Waverly’s face cast the room in such colour that Nicole was overwhelmed.

Waverly walked the curved chamber, one hand brushing the spines reverently. At times she’d pause and squint, reading a title embossed in gold, but mostly she seemed content to just touch the books, as if she could absorb their knowledge through her hands. Nicole found herself watching Waverly more than the books. The woman in front of her seemed swept away, her face soft and carefree. Gone was the cheeky grin or the concentrated furrow or the worry that sometimes haunted her eyes. Waverly looked so peaceful, so content, that Nicole wished she could purchase the building on the spot and give it to Waverly lest that look ever vanish from her countenance.

For the second time that day, Nicole lost all track of time. She had no idea how long they circled the room, nor did she fully realize that they were leaving the museum until Waverly pushed open another door and they were standing in the gloomy light of late afternoon.

“Did you like it?” Waverly asked, uncharacteristically shy.

“It is the most wonderful place I’ve ever seen!” Nicole said, pleased when Waverly blushed once more.

“Care to sit for a time? I’d rather not rush back.”

Nicole could understand why. The trees in the museum courtyard were tall and beautiful and there were benches set along paved pathways. It was so different from Whitechapel, so different from the life Waverly knew.

They settled on a bench facing the grand museum and it was Waverly who spoke first, huddling close to Nicole.

“Do you have a favourite book? I could never choose, but I noticed you brought a few with you…”

“Planning to purloin my belongings?” Nicole teased. Wavery giggled.

“I just want to know about you. I’ve never met anyone quite so…”

“Odd?” Nicole supplied, winking at her companion.

“Yes! But, no, so…you’re very interesting, Nicole Haught. I wish to know everything about you!”

“Everything?”

Waverly nodded in that stubborn way she had and Nicole realized that there was very little she wouldn’t do for Waverly. There were some things she could not share, some things that had to be held safely away, but Waverly was very hard to deny.

“I think my favourite book must be _Frankenstein_,” Nicole said. It was one of the few possessions she had brought with her from Canada.

“Oh! How dastardly! I love it too. That wretched monster and his wretched master!” Waverly bounced a little on the bench.

“I do not find the monster so wretched, to be honest,” Nicole said.

“Nicole,” Waverly furrowed her eyebrows, “he kills many, many people.”

“Yes, but, how do I put this…”

Waverly hung on her every word. Nicole turned more towards her on the bench.

“I understand him in some strange way. Not his crimes, but his loneliness. He is unique in all the world, not by choice, by but the choice of another. And his sadness…I…it touches me.”

It was a deep confession, a dark one even, but Waverly did not shy away. Instead she set her hand on Nicole’s forearm and appeared to be in thought.

“I suppose that is true. He is a lonely soul,” she finally said.

“There’s a line I read over and over, the page is so worn it is barely legible, but I think of it often. It’s the part where the creature demands Frankenstein make him a woman,” Nicole said.

She then closed her eyes, trying to remember the phrasing of the prose.

“The creature begs Frankenstein to make him a mate and Frankenstein refuses, but the creature begs again,” Nicole began, “He says, “_It is true, we shall be monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that account we shall be more attached to one another. Our lives will not be happy, but they will be harmless and free from the misery I now feel. Oh! My creator, make me happy; let me feel gratitude towards you for one benefit! Let me see that I excite the sympathy of some existing thing…_”

Nicole trailed off, the echo of her voice stirring a constant sadness in her soul. She remembered the first time she had read the passage. She remembered how suddenly she saw her own reflection in its text.

“Do you see yourself that way,” Waverly asked.

Nicole felt herself on shaky ground, but pushed forward. She had known Waverly for only a short time, but the woman was kind and honest and looking at her with such openness that Nicole snatched the rare opportunity to be candid.

“I do.”

“As a creature? Alone?”

“Yes.”

“Because…”

Nicole shifted wishing she could confess herself fully.

“Because of your dress,” Waverly asked. Nicole nodded.

“And your heart,” Waverly’s hand found Nicole’s arm. It squeezed. Nicole inhaled. They were dancing around the truth, tiptoeing close to its fiery entrance.

“I do not think there are others like me,” Nicole whispered, “but I have long known that I am different from most people and I have made peace with my solitude.”

The words sounded like the words of her father, well-rehearsed and hardly believed, but Nicole could not open the door any wider, she could not put into words what she truly meant, what she truly _was_. Nicole barely understood it herself. Waverly would be disgusted, she would call her an abomination, and she would be correct.

“I do not think you’re right, Nicole,” Waverly said.

“About what?”

“That there are no others…like you.”

Waverly’s face was so close, Nicole could see the vein in her neck, twitching as her heart beat.

“We should not speak of this, Waverly.”

“I cannot abide your loneliness,” Waverly said.

“And I cannot abide your loveliness,” Nicole answered back, trying to lighten their mood with a wink and a smile. Waverly leaned back, giving Nicole a hard stare before the corner of her lips turned upwards. They had come to an understanding without speaking the words aloud. Waverly had pushed and Nicole had let her, but that was done now. Nicole could not give any more and Waverly would not ask her to. It was a kindness.

“Endlessly charming! Very well, homeward bound?” Waverly said, still smiling.

“Indeed! And thank you, Waverly, this was miraculous,” Nicole said, gesturing towards the museum.

“Thank _you_, Miss Haught, there are few who contend with my interest in books and old, dusty things.”

“We may discuss books whenever you like, Miss Earp.” Nicole stood, offering Waverly her arm.

“I will hold you to that!” Waverly answered.

The two strolled away from the white, Roman columns, heading east towards Whitechapel.

~*~

They were in a nightmarish holding pattern. The killer had gone silent and so Nicole and Dolls were forced to work with what they had. There was nothing new, no clues to add to the pile, and it felt like the whole world was anticipation. Who would be next? They were powerless to stop the future and the madman who lurked therein.

Then there was the added problem of Waverly.

Nicole prided herself on her focus, her dedication. She had faced hardship in her life, she had suffered, but when it came to her work, nothing could distract her. Which was no longer true. Because Waverly Earp was everywhere.

She’d visit the office daily, bringing Nicole and Xavier food. She’d present new sketches too, sometimes at Xavier’s behest, but often because there was detail not quite right and she wanted to correct any perceived errors. Each night, Nicole would walk from the station to Gibson’s and each night she would sit in the back of the hall with Xavier and watch Waverly perform or sit with Charles Hardy and laugh at his jokes.

On the nights that Waverly was absent, those nights when she disappeared into Charles’ carriage and did not return until morning, Nicole worried endlessly, lying awake, trying not to think about what Waverly was doing.

It was a disservice to the work, Nicole told herself. An embarrassing weakness of spirit that was offensive to the victims of their uncaught killer. Nicole berated herself constantly, trying everything to stop thinking about Waverly.

But how could she not? Waverly was part of the case. Waverly lived one floor below her. Waverly worked with them. Waverly was something of a friend, at the very least, a kind ear and a warm smile.

Five days after their afternoon trip to the museum, Nicole found herself agitated with distraction. She quietly walked beside Xavier as they headed to Gibson’s, but upon seeing Hardy’s carriage outside, Nicole paused.

“I left something at the office,” she lied, hoping Xavier would let it go. He turned to her, frowning.

“I’ll come with you,” he said, already pausing his step, but Nicole shook her head.

“Really, it’s fine.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” Dolls smiled and Nicole could only manage a shrug.

“No, no…you know how I get. Have to clear my head a bit.”

“It’s late, Nicole.” Xavier lowered his hat and scratched his head, obviously trying to say what he wanted to say without offending her.

_It’s late and you are a woman and you should not be out without a man_.

Nicole understood, but it grated at her. She could not bear another evening of watching Waverly from afar, of fighting herself and the hideous thoughts in her head. She could not bear another evening of Charles Hardy.

“I’ll keep to the main streets, I promise. Besides, the lamps are on and I’ll be home soon.”

Nicole thought Xavier would refuse her again, but instead he sighed heavily, making some silent decision.

“Take this,” Xavier said, quickly undoing his coat and reaching into his vest. He retried a small dagger, sheathed in a worn leather scabbard and Nicole raised one eyebrow.

“Xavier…”

“I’d give you my revolver, but it’s in my room and something tells me that you do not wish to enter the building at all.”

Nicole sighed and took the offered weapon.

“You know me too well,” she said, leaning down to tuck the blade in her boot.

“Waverly will miss you tonight, she’s got a new song apparently.”

The mention of Waverly made Nicole frown. Xavier reached out for her and settled a hand on her shoulder.

“Nicole, it’s alright,” he said and she was too afraid to meet his gaze lest she find pity there.

“No, Xavier, it’s not. You know it’s not.”

“I cannot pretend to fully understand how you feel, but do not let your father’s poison destroy your life, Nicole.”

The mention of her father was enough to force Nicole from Xavier’s grasp. She stepped away, haunted, and turned her back on her friend. The night was far more inviting.

~*~

Nicole wandered aimlessly for a time, her hands shoved into the pockets of her coat. She paid little attention to her steps or those around her. It was comforting to weave in and out of alleyways, side-stepping drunks and ignoring the tinkling music coming from pubs along the roads.

Her mind was littered with corpses. Women gutted like fish. Her parents…

She flinched at the very thought and kept walking, refusing to go there, to go back. The sky was dark and the streets quickly emptied. She had little awareness of the time, but didn’t care. Xavier would worry, but she needed this reprieve. She thought of Waverly’s face for a moment, her face and the curve of her in those frilly, ridiculous, costumes she wore on stage. Nicole swallowed hard and pressed on, taking a left and then a right and then finding herself at a dead end.

The brick wall before her rose up and she shuddered upon realizing where she had subconsciously walked. This was where Willa had been found. This small, dark alley was the final resting place of Waverly’s sister.

Nicole crouched down, wishing for more light, but she could barely see her own hand before her eyes. The pavement had been washed and it was covered in dust and dirt and dead leaves. She could envision the image of Willa in her mind, imagine her here. There was only one way out of the alley, she must have been backed down the path, or forced here?

Nicole stood and pressed one hand to the wall of the building on her left. The stonewas cold, as everything was cold. There would be no more clues here, nothing to bring back, but the wind was playing tricks on her and a rat scuttled above, startling her. An alley hidden by tall buildings, ending in a brick wall. No windows facing down. No witnesses. Did Willa choose this place for her work? Was she brought here against her will?

“What have we here?”

The voice came from above and Nicole immediately looked up but saw nothing. The sky above was barely visible, a sliver of black against the shadowy outlines of rooves.

“Who’s there?” Nicole asked, turning again. Something flapped by her ear, perhaps the wind, and she raised her leg, pulling Xavier’s knife from her boot.

She heard a laugh, low and humorless, and then another whip of fabric, so close…

“What are you?” The voice asked.

_High. Accented. Posh. Nasal? _

“Show yourself!” Nicole cursed the tremor in her voice.

“You first.”

Nicole heard the thud of shoes on the pavement and then found herself pushed by an unseen force. Her cheek hit the brick wall first, bruising with the force of the impact, but when she tried to move, a body pressed against her, hard and strong.

There was a forearm across the back of her neck, holding her face to the wall, and she felt a hand on her hip, pulling at her coat.

_Average height. My height. Smells of…think…Nicole, Nicole think…_

“Oh, a surprise,” the voice said, the hand on her hip moving, tucking into the hem of her shirt. It was bare, gloveless, the sudden warmth of human fingers against her skin shocked Nicole and she pushed back, trying desperately to move. The arm across her neck prevented this, as did the weight of whoever held her. Two knees fit against the back of her own.

His hand traced the line from her hip to her rib cage and he snickered.

_Whisky. Breath smells of whisky._

“I did not expect this, I must confess, but you would be something special.”

Nicole gathered her strength and pushed back, temporarily dislodging her captor, but her attempt was met with a forceful push against the wall. Her head hit the brick, dazing her, and he once again had her. Instead of fingers against her side, she felt something colder, sharper, and it took all that she had not to scream.

“What shall I take first? Shall I leave you here like the other one? Do they know what you are? Shall I show them?”

Nicole wondered if Waverly would sketch her body. Nicole wondered if Waverly would cry for her. Waverly…

“Piss off, you cock-faced wanker!” Nicole pushed once again, this time using her height to her advantage. She braced both hands against the wall, Xavier’s knife still held firmly in her grasp, as she forced herself back, ducking before her attacker could catch her again. They fumbled for a moment, Nicole dropping to her knees, feeling like she was fighting the night itself.

He stumbled once, allowing Nicole enough time to weave behind him and swing the knife in a wide arch. She did not know what she cut, it was too dark and too frantic, but the furious scream and damp warmth running down her hand told her all she needed to know.

He grasped at her one last time, but she kicked at the dirty pavement and ran, skinning her knees and palms as she climbed to her feet and stumbled away. She ran towards the entrance of the alley and her own safety, struggling under the opaque darkness that held her captor. She could hear him panting behind her, but refused to turn back, instead bursting into the street, gasping for air as if she’d been forced underwater.

She did not pause to turn around, nor did she stop running when the streets became more familiar to her. He could be anywhere. He could be anyone. The heat of his fingers still burned her.

Nicole ran and ran, Xavier’s knife in her hand, the blood of a murderer staining its blade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frankenstein passage lovingly borrowed from Mary Shelley.
> 
> Comments are EVERYTHING.


	5. Dear Boss

September 29, 1888

Two lights shone in the distance.

Nicole could hear her ragged breathing, but she dared not slow her pace. She ran, the rain pelting down on her, soaking through her wool hat and coat. The knife was still firmly clutched in her hand and all she knew was that _he _was behind her and Gibson’s was ahead of her and if she could just make it…

“Nicole!”

Xavier’s voice cried out in the distance. The light came closer.

“Miss Haught!”

That was John Henry.

Nicole was barely aware that she had reached Gibson’s front door, she was barely aware of Xavier lowering his lantern and grabbing for her. She yelled as he did, shaking and shivering, horrified that she was suddenly not moving.

“He’s here!” She said, thrashing against Xavier.

“Who? Nicole, what…”

“I got him! I got him and he’s here and…”

“We must get her inside,” John said, gently cupping Nicole’s elbow with one hand.

She let herself be led, but continued turning to look back, sure that her attacker would drop from the shadows.

Gibson’s was dark, the guests long gone, so John and Xavier bundled Nicole up the stairs. She hardly registered the movement, the two men nearly had her off her feet.

“Xavier!” She said again, unsure why she was repeating her friend’s name, but it was all she could think to do.

The second-floor landing was dark, but when they opened the door onto the hallway, numerous heads popped out of doorways, their faces illuminated by the lamps in the walls.

“What is going on?” Wynonna was still dressed, the gun belt she favoured in her hands.

“I got him!” Nicole announced, her voice loud in the quiet space.

“Sweetheart, why the racket?” Mercy appeared and then Rosita. They both were in various states of undress, nightgowns and half undone bustiers on display. Kate sulked in her doorway, arms crossed in irritation.

“Nicole?” Waverly appeared from her room blinking heavily, as if she’d just been torn from sleep.

“Please, listen to me!” Nicole turned to Xavier, trying to grab at his arm.

“You’re hurt,” Waverly gasped, reaching for Nicole’s shoulders.

“She’s bleeding!” Mercy had stepped forward, opening Nicole’s coat.

“Will no one listen?” Nicole felt too many hands on her. _He_ could be anywhere. In the house? On the roof? The knife in her hand felt heavy and her head hurt and she just wanted someone, anyone to pay attention.

“We will,” Xavier said, “but first let’s get you warm.”

“Come to my room, there’s a fire,” Waverly said.

Nicole was ready to scream in frustration as the crowd forced her into a chair by a lit fireplace. Wynonna was looking at her suspiciously and Xavier’s eyes were worried and Waverly…

“Waverly, please listen to me,” Nicole said, reaching out with her free hand. It caught the sleeve of Waverly’s nightdress, and Waverly paused, looking at Nicole with earnest worry. She reached out, settling her hand on Nicole’s cheek.

“Alright, sweetheart, we’re all listening now,” Waverly said and the room quieted.

“I…I went to where Willa…”

“Jesus Christ,” Wynonna mumbled before Mercy elbowed her.

“I don’t know why I went there, I just did. And then he…I didn’t see from where…I tried…but he was so fast…but look, look!” Nicole held the knife up to the light. The rain had cleaned most of the blood from the blade, but her hand was stained red.

“Good Lord, Nicole, did you kill him?” Xavier asked, kneeling before her chair.

“No? I don’t know? He was strong and he smelled like whiskey and his accent…I have to write it down, I have to remember!” Nicole tried to stand, but Xavier and Waverly pushed her gently down again.

“John, she’s bleeding,” Kate said and it was only then that Nicole felt the searing pain in her side.

“Jesus,” Wynonna said again, reaching for Nicole’s shirt, but Nicole slapped her hand away.

“No!” Was all she could manage, the idea of being that exposed in front of everyone…

Waverly stood up and shared a glance with Xavier before speaking.

“Everyone can go, Xavier and I will take care of it. But John? Could you bring your kit? And Mercy, maybe some clean water and a cloth?” Waverly’s voice was so sweet that everyone seemed to instantly agree, even Wynonna who helped usher Rosita and Mercy from the room. Kate leaned down, eyeing Nicole, before taking her hand.

“Can’t stay away from danger, can you?” She said.

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t, I don’t…”

“Hush, now. Sleep well.”

Kate left just as Mercy returned with a basin and some clean towels. She set them down and planted a quick kiss on Nicole’s head before following Kate from the room.

Once John arrived with a black bag in hand, Nicole knew she had to calm down and let him work. But she couldn’t. All she could hear was the wind, the snap of a cape, the voice, that voice and his hands and…

“Very well, Miss Haught, may I raise your shirt just a bit?”

Nicole swallowed hard but nodded. She wasn’t sure what John would find.

“Let’s get this jacket off first, alright?” He said and she listened, shrugging out of her damp coat. Waverly tossed it on a nearby couch and then circled Nicole’s chair, standing behind it.

“I’m going to undo your braid, darling, is that alright?”

Nicole’s teeth were chattering and she realized she was shaking from cold. Her toes felt like ice and she could barely feel her hands.

Xavier carefully took Nicole’s hand, uncurling her fingers with his own. He placed the knife in his pocket and then folded his fingers around Nicole’s bloodstained hand as John raised her shirt.

The cut was thin and thankfully not deep, but it had bled all over her side. John poked at it once, bringing a damp cloth to the skin and then nodded to himself.

“You’ll not require any stitches,” he said, “but let me put a plaster on it.”

“It was sharp…the knife, it was so sharp,” Nicole said, her voice wavering from cold.

“I’m more worried that you’ll catch a chill,” John grumbled, tying clean cloth around Nicole’s middle. It was constricting, but at least the material was warm.

“That room of hers is frigid,” Xavier said, stepping back and letting Nicole roll her shirt down.

“She can stay here, I’ve the fire and extra blankets,” Waverly said, fingers quickly untying Nicole’s braid. Nicole leaned back in the chair, her head finding Waverly’s hands. They were so warm and so careful, she barely felt any snag as Waverly worked. But the idea of staying in Waverly’s room confused her muddled mind.

“No, I’ll go, it’s alright…” she said, trying to stand, but Waverly hand was suddenly on her shoulder again, firm.

“I insist, Nicole. Xavier, could you bring Nicole her nightclothes?”

“Certainly,” he said.

“Stay warm, keep the cut clean, you’ll be good as new in the morning,” John said, his blue eyes twinkling in the firelight.

Nicole nodded, unsure of her current situation, but she was too cold to argue anymore and Waverly’s palm felt so centering on her shoulder.

“You’re too brave for your own good,” Xavier said, lingering in the hallway.

“Nothing you wouldn’t have done,” she answered. He shook his head and disappeared into the dark. John took his leave and then it was just Waverly and Nicole.

“You gave us all a fright,” Waverly whispered.

“Waverly?”

“Hmmm?”

“My face hurts.”

Waverly picked up John Henry’s discarded towel from the basin of warm wetter. She carefully pressed it to Nicole’s face, her eyes showing nothing but concern and sadness.

“Did he push you into a wall?”

“Yes. I couldn’t get free.”

“Sweetheart, did he…mishandle you in any way?”

Nicole felt her chest tense. She curled her fingers into the armrests of the chair and took a deep, steadying breath.

“He touched me. Under my shirt. His hands were warm.”

“I’ll kill him, I will,” Waverly grumbled, replacing the cloth with her damp, cool fingers.

“Waverly?”

“Hmmm?” Waverly cooed, looking into Nicole’s eyes.

“I’m scared.”

Waverly backed away, hands on her hips, a determined look on her features. Her nightdress dipped down, exposing her shoulder and she looked younger than her years.

“Let’s take care of that, shall we?”

If anyone could, it was Waverly. Of that Nicole had no doubt.

~*~

Nicole stood in the commode facing a new kind of fear.

She stared at herself in the mirror, wincing at the bruising and scrapes on her cheek. Her face hurt and her side burned. Her toes were still frigid even with the addition of a pair of woolly socks. But despite the anxiety that still licked at her temples, Nicole found herself newly afraid.

Because she was about to share a bed with Waverly Earp.

Her nightclothes were simple, modest even. A pair of white underpants tied at the waist covered her to her ankles. And her shirt was white too, short sleeved and opened at the collar. She wondered if she should button herself up to the neck, but the garment was slightly too small there, laundered over and over, and it was hard to sleep comfortably.

She undid two buttons and hoped her appearance was decent. Waverly’s night dress was nothing out of the ordinary, but the idea of sleeping next to it…to Waverly herself? Nicole swallowed hard and then turned away from the small, dark room, carrying a single candle as she returned to Waverly’s bedroom.

“About time!” Waverly said, already in bed. The blanket pooled around her waist and she looked at Nicole expectantly.

Nicole set the candle down and then the bundle of her clothing. Her shirt was with Gus though how Waverly’s aunt would remove all the blood Nicole could not say. Nicole circled the bed and stood with her hand hovering over the quilt.

“Get in, silly!” Waverly insisted, turning on her side to watch Nicole.

Nicole obeyed, gingerly climbing under the sheets and lying on her back, as close to the edge as she could get.

The bed _was_ warm and comfortable, but Nicole was acutely aware of the body next to her. She dared not move, she tried not to blink, and it was only when she heard a scoff beside her that she decided to look at Waverly. The woman in question was lying on her side, staring at Nicole with a mixture of amusement and frustration.

“Have you never done this?” She asked.

Nicole blushed.

“I…umm…”

“Shared a bed with a friend? Or a sister?” Waverly shook her head, rolling onto her stomach and burying both hands under her pillow.

Nicole swallowed hard and tried to erase the one memory she’d kept hidden away for years. Of being a school girl. Of Shae. Of the softest, barest of touches. Of the cold after it was over.

“Once?” Nicole offered, looking away from Waverly’s face, which was half-hidden by the pillow.

“Then you’ll know there’s nothing to fear. I won’t bite!”

“You seem the type to do just that,” Nicole said and smirked as Waverly pushed herself up again and lightly smacked Nicole’s shoulder.

“Nicole Haught, you terrible thing!”

Nicole leaned over to blow out the candle on her side of the bed. The room was suddenly dark, save for the few dying embers in the fire place.

“Should we sleep now?” She asked.

“Hmmph. Are you still scared?” Waverly voice was already distant and groggy, but Nicole was touched by the question. She settled into the mattress, trying to let the scent of Waverly’s perfume lull her.

“No,” she said.

It was a lie.

~*~

_She knew of the fire before she could see it. The heaviness in the air, the strange light against the wood. Her chest hurt, she couldn’t…her lungs…_

_Nicole crawled on her belly, her hands in front of her, white against the pine flooring. _

_“Nicole.”_

_“Father?”_

_“Nicole.”_

_She turned back, looking over her shoulder at the alter but the flames licked at its vestments. Purple robes turned to ash, her father turned to ash, the crucifix crumbled and fell, landing like bones in a slaughter house. _

_“Nicole?”_

_“Mama?”_

_It was all too heavy. She tried. But the hand around her wrist burned and her mother’s eyes turned to water, her hair a spider’s web of light._

_“Mama?”_

_“Nicole…”_

~*~

A warm hand pressed against Nicole’s back, between her shoulder blades.

Nicole startled awake, the sound of her name drifting over the bed, but she knew it was not her mother’s voice. It was Waverly’s.

“There, there,” Waverly whispered, the hand stroking the back of Nicole’s shirt moved up into Nicole’s hair where it curled at the base of Nicole’s skull.

Nicole blinked once and then again, eyeing the room. It was dark, but she was safe. She somehow knew. She was safe.

She let herself sleep again, Waverly’s fingers keeping the nightmares at bay.

~*~

Nicole opened her eyes, jolted awake by the subconscious memory of a cape cracking in the wind.

She blinked once, heavily, and then settled, curling her fingers into the softness of Waverly’s sheets. Part of her wanted to bolt from the bed, to flee the scene, but the other part of her, the weaker part, was so comfortable and comforted that she couldn’t bear to move.

Waverly turned behind her, yawning a little, and Nicole closed her eyes again, counting each breath, trying to calm her racing heart.

“G’morning.” Waverly’s voice was groggy, but Nicole liked knowing how Waverly sounded in the morning.

“Good morning, Miss Waverly,” Nicole said, flipping onto her back.

A hand haphazardly patted her head, landing somewhere between her forehead and her hairline and Nicole laughed. She opened her eyes, turning to Waverly, but before she could speak, the sight of Waverly’s naked shoulder gave her pause.

Because it was _right there_. Waverly’s nightdress had slid half-way down her arm and that shoulder…Nicole could reach out and touch it if she wanted to. And she so wanted to.

She wanted to press her lips to the skin, to taste it, to pull the material away and tuck her face into Waverly’s neck, to let her hand slip from Waverly’s shoulder to…

Nicole lurched out of bed, nearly stumbling as she stood, tossing blankets and a pillow in her wake.

“Are you quite alright?” Waverly asked, stretching. She didn’t seem to notice Nicole’s sudden excitement.

“Yes! Quite. Quite!” Nicole motioned towards the door, aware that she was in her underclothes in Waverly’s bedroom and Waverly was tiredly moving from the bed to the dressing table, barely paying Nicole any attention. And that nightdress was precariously hanging from Waverly’s body in defiance of all known gravitational science…

“Pardon me, darling, I do not enjoy the mornings,” Waverly said, sitting down in front of her dressing mirror. Nicole could see the reflected face. A crease from the pillow trailed from Waverly’s lip to her eyebrow. It was stunningly beautiful and Nicole wished she could sculpt it.

Nicole also wished she could stop being such a fool.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” she said instead, reaching for the doorknob.

“Nicole?”

Waverly didn’t look away from her mirror, but she paused her movements, her eyes meeting Nicole’s in the reflection.

“Yes?”

“Your nightmare…it was so violent.” Waverly’s voice was kind and curious and Nicole lowered her head.

“I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“No need, I just worry. You’ve had such a fright. Perhaps a day by the sea? The air is medicinal, you know?”

Nicole was touched by Waverly’s concern. She briefly recalled the night before: Mercy’s worried eyes and Kate’s affectionate palm and John’s gentleness. Gibson’s had become a sanctuary to her. A sanctuary she likely didn’t deserve.

“Do not worry yourself, Miss Waverly. It was an old fright, I am fine. I promise you.”

“An old fright?” Waverly turned in her chair.

“There was a fire,” Nicole said, deciding she could trust Waverly with this, “my parents did not survive. I did.”

Waverly stood, her hand rising to her lips.

“Nicole…”

“Safely the stuff of dreams now, Waverly. Thank you for your kindness last night.” Nicole opened the door and offered Waverly one last smile.

They had shared enough. Nicole’s mind was full of Waverly instead of the sight of her attacker the night before. It was unacceptable. It was deplorable.

Nicole chided herself all the way up the stairs to her room.

~*~

Gus had left Nicole’s shirt on her bed and it was a little startling to see it in the light of day. Nicole had assumed the shirt was ruined, but as she raised it, she could see only the hint of a blood stain. And Gus had stitched it back up, meaning it was still wearable. Nicole only had two shirts to her name, she was relieved and grateful.

She tossed her nightshirt on the floor and took a moment to stand in front of the mirror. She splashed water from the basin under her arms and then unwrapped the bandage John had placed the night before.

The cut had already scabbed and there was only a little blood on the plaster, but it hurt and was red. Between the burn scar on her hip and the newest slash, Nicole looked like she’d been in a brawl. And her bruised face didn’t help matters.

She sighed and pulled on her shirt, shivering slightly as she remembered the last time she’d worn it.

Xavier was likely gone for the day and it was time to get to the office. Nicole wanted to write down everything she could recall about the night before and she wanted to review it all with Xavier. He had a talent for evoking sense memory and while Nicole was nervous to let herself even think about how close she’d come to death, any clue could bring them closer to solving the case.

She quietly made her way down stairs, avoiding the second-floor landing and the dance hall. Breakfast would have to wait.

~*~

Xavier was waiting for her outside the building as Nicole quickly made her way towards the station. She was surprised to see him outside of their basement office, but he immediately stepped forward at the sight of her.

“Finally!” He nearly yelled, making a grab for her elbow.

“What’s happened?”

“Abberline is here. He’s asked for _us_.” Xavier opened the door for her, stepping aside to let her into the building.

“What? Why? Abberline? Here? Whe…”

The front of the station was crowded with inspectors and Nicole recognized the mouthy rookie from the day before. He glowered at her and she returned the look. With her cap pulled low over her eyes and her bruised face, he knew enough to step back. She was in no mood for nonsense.

“Came in first thing this morning with Chief Inspector Nedley,” Xavier said, coming to an abrupt stop before a door Nicole had never used before. They waited no more than a second when it swung open and Nicole stepped inside a small, but well-furnished office. There was a large, oak desk at the back of the room and the chairs were upholstered in deep red leather. A portrait of her majesty the queen peered down at them from one wall, directly over a roaring fireplace. It look more like a lord’s sitting room than a police officer’s domain.

Sitting behind the desk, Nicole recognized Randolph Nedley and beside him, the portly man in a smart blue coat had to be Inspector Abberline.

“Dolls,” Abberline said, genuinely smiling at Xavier.

“Sir, this is my associate, Nicole Haught.” Dolls held out one arm towards Nicole. She pulled her hat from her head and nodded towards her superior.

“Sir it is an honour to meet you.”

“The honour is mine, Miss Haught,” Abberline said, “Dolls tells us of your work. Most impressive, my dear.”

Nicole disliked the affectionate pet name but let it slide. The man was kind and there was no mocking in his tone.

“You’ve made yourself useful,” Nedley leaned back in his chair, his pipe puffing grey smoke into the room.

“Thank you, sir, I’ve tried, sir,” Nicole found herself stammering. She was standing before the two most powerful men in in London’s police force. She and Dolls were in the inner-sanctum of the Met. She wanted to pinch herself.

“We heard you had a run in yesterday?” Abberline eyed Nicole’s face. She was relieved she’d chosen to wear a waistcoat lest he catch a glimpse of her stained shirt.

“Yes, sir. I was just about to compile a description.”

“It will have to wait, I’m afraid,” Abberline answered and then pointed to the two chairs before the desk. Xavier and Nicole took a seat.

Nedley pushed two pieces of paper towards them and pressed his fingertips together, resting them against his chest. He looked grave, staring at the documents in clear distaste. Nicole could see what appeared to be red ink on the paper. At least, she prayed it was _ink_.

It was Abberline who spoke, as if Nedley could not bring himself to describe what was in the room with them.

“This letter arrived at the Central News Agency this morning. It was quickly brought to Scotland Yard and now we have it here,” Abberline said. Nicole blinked and had to stop herself from grabbing at the papers.

“Who is it from, Sir?” Xavier asked.

“Read for yourself, Dolls. And you too, Miss Haught.”

Nicole looked at Xavier who looked back at her. He gathered the documents in his hand and cleared his throat, reading out loud for the benefit of the room.

_Dear Boss,_

_I keep on hearing the police have caught me but they wont fix me just yet. I have laughed when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track. That joke about Leather Apron gave me real fits. I am down on whores and I shant quit ripping them till I do get buckled. Grand work the last job was. I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can they catch me now. I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games. I saved some of the proper red stuff in a ginger beer bottle over the last job to write with but it went thick like glue and I cant use it. Red ink is fit enough I hope ha. ha. The next job I do I shall clip the ladys ears off and send to the police officers just for jolly wouldn't you. Keep this letter back till I do a bit more work, then give it out straight. My knife's so nice and sharp I want to get to work right away if I get a chance. Good Luck. Yours truly_

_Jack the Ripper_

_Dont mind me giving the trade name_

_PS Wasnt good enough to post this before I got all the red ink off my hands curse it. No luck yet. They say I'm a doctor now. ha ha_

The quiet following Dolls’ voice was discomforting. Nicole folding her hand into a fist to keep from visibly shaking. She chanced a glance at Xavier who was stone faced, his eyes still looking at the letter in his hand.

“Is it from him?” Nicole asked, directing her question to Abberline.

“Who can say? What do _you_ make of it?”

It shocked Nicole again that these men were interested in her opinion. She’d never know the experience before. Carefully taking the letter from Xavier, she read it once more, slower this time, trying to gather her thoughts.

“Did we release the notion that he is a doctor?” Nicole frowned at the last line of the letter.

“No, we did not,” Nedley said, his eyes filled with severity.

“May I copy this?” Nicole asked.

Abberline nodded, motioning towards a type writer in the corner.

“He’s obviously toying with us,” Nicole said, her back to the three men, “and there’s no indication of when he’ll strike again, only that he will. He’s named himself, which means his confidence grows, he’s taken that away from us.”

“What do you mean?” Nedley’s voice was curious, there was none of the expected malice. Nicole turned over her shoulder to find her three companions staring at her.

“The papers call him Leather Apron. We call him whatever we wish. But now he has told us _his_ name, the name he has chosen for himself. He is in control.”

Nedley and Abberline exchanged a look and came to some silent agreement. Dolls was about to speak when Nedley stood, his ever-present pipe back in his mouth.

“This office is yours now,” Abberline said, “the room you’ve been inhabiting isn’t fit for man or beast.”

Abberline walked to the other corner of the room, opening a cupboard and returning with a bottle of sherry and four glasses.

“Have the men bring your things up here and for God’s sake, Randolph, pay them a decent wage.” Abberline poured sherry into each of the glasses and then handed them out. Both Nicole and Xavier were too startled to speak. Nedley lowered his pipe to sip from the glass.

“Very well. You’ll have it. No word of this to anyone, use the lock on the door.,” Nedley said.

“Sir, thank you.” Xavier bowed his head.

“It troubles me, the line about the doctor,” Abbeline mused, hesitating at the door.

“Me too, Sir.” Nicole finished her typing and brought the letter to Nedley. He took it from her and then offered her a solemn nod.

Nedley folded the letter and slipped it into his waistcoat.

“Will you publish it, sir?” Xavier stood from his chair.

“No, I pray we never have reason to,” Abberline said.

Nicole and Xavier exchanged another glance but did not respond.

~*~

In the absence of both Chief Inspectors, Xavier and Nicole took a moment to gape at each other. They’d gone from working in a mildew infested sewer to the finest surroundings London had to offer. The chairs were comfortable and the fire kept the room free from damp.

Nicole had smiled so widely when Nedley left and Xavier had burst out laughing. They shared a second glass of sherry and then sat down to work, Xavier behind the big desk and Nicole at the typewriter, examining her copy of the Ripper letter.

Moments later, two rookies walked in carrying files that Nicole recognized from the basement.

“Abberline says to bring these here?” One asked. Nicole could only nod, slightly apologetically, as the two men spent the remainder of the afternoon moving belongings from the basement into the new office.

She let Xavier do most of the instructing. The letter flitted before her eyes, its words coming in and out of focus. She was confused by its tone, not the teasing, but its lack of finesse. Would a trained doctor or anatomist speak like this?

But perhaps that itself was a trick? A cover? The mocking laughter at the end teased Nicole, she wished she could blot it out. And then there was the matter of his threat of new victims. It was likely, they’d barely even scratched the surface with the Annie Chapman case, but Nicole so wanted to unlock whatever mystery the letter held. Maybe she could save a life? Maybe she could stop this.

Her eyes strained as the light of the day faded from the tall windows in the room. She felt her back ache and finally looked away from her work, surprised at the volume of notes she’d scribbled on papers next to the copied letter. When she turned to look over her shoulder, Xavier was organizing photographs and illustrations on the opposite wall using small pins to create his macabre tableaux.

“Why, Detective Dolls, do you think we should call for tea?” Nicole asked. She could see the curve of Xavier’s smile from across the room.

“A grand notion, Detective Haught, let me ring the bell.”

They laughed and it felt good to laugh because the memory of a red-stained letter troubled Nicole deeply.

“I so wish we could read blood,” she said, obviously startling Xavier who raised both eyebrows and turned from his work.

“What do you mean?”

“Or saliva. Even the mark of fingers. Surely there are differences inherent in our anatomy that give us away, that tell who we are. The letter is not his blood, at least he claims as much, but he handled it…I wish we could read him there.” Nicole knew she sounded ridiculous, but Xavier did not judge.

There was the matter of the night before, of the knife and its bloody handle. Nicole wondered what could be read from a killer’s wound, what story she could decipher from liquid death. The blade was still with Dolls, he hadn’t brought it up again, but the memory of its weight in her hand made her palm itch.

“I’ve heard of work on fingerprints,” Dolls said instead, “but the Met is slow to change.”

Nicole nodded and was about to suggest they depart for the night when they both heard a scuffle outside the door.

“Madness, I tell you, Abberline has lost his damn mind!” Came a voice, a familiar voice, and Nicole rolled her eyes at the sound of the rookie inspector who seemed to have it in for her.

Through the open door, they both saw the man and another rookie awkwardly carrying the slate Xavier had used in the basement. Someone had erased their work, a visible handprint ran through the word _prostitute_, but it was more of an annoyance than a concern. Xavier was meticulous with his notes.

“Through here,” Xavier called, clearly unwilling to deal with nonsense.

“Look at ‘em, givin’ me the orders?”

Nicole stood and Xavier gave her a warning look.

“The orders came from Chief Inspector Nedley, now do as my colleague says,” Nicole said, peaking her head out the door.

She was met with disdain. The officer – Jameson was his name, she was sure – set down the slate heavily and the rest of the inspectors in the front room turned to look.

“I’ve had it!” He said, pointing an angry finger at Nicole.

“I don’t take orders from no Jack.”

“And I don’t take lip from children,” she said back, fully stepping out of the room. Xavier was at her shoulder. There was a low murmuring from the crowd, but quite a few of the men stood behind Jameson. Nicole and Xavier were definitely outnumbered.

“What are you playing at, girl?” Jameson asked.

“Bet she earned that office on her knees.” Another voice came from the crowd. Nicole could feel the danger in the air, the tense mob building. She swallowed hard, trying not to let her mouth get away from her.

“Let’s take a step back, shall we lads?” Xavier’s hand came down heavy on Nicole’s shoulder.

“We know where you both sleep. No wonder you’re so busy tryin’ to save whores,” Jameson growled. There were a few, low sounds of agreement.

“What did you just say?” Nicole shook off Xavier, stepping forward again.

“You heard me just fine, girlie. I think Leather Apron is doing us a favour, to be honest, cleaning things up a bit.”

“Watch your mouth, Jameson,” Xavier said, pointing at the man.

“You don’t think we know you’ve got a whore workin’ for you too? Tryin’ to save her from the knife? You degenerates!”

This time, Xavier was too slow to stop Nicole’s movement. She didn’t think before she ran forward, swinging wide for Jameson’s head. Her knuckles found their purchase, landing with a dull thud against a soft cheek.

Jameson barked in pain, his eyes showing surprise and anger.

“Know your place, woman!” He cried, clearly furious, but instead of the slap Nicole expected, he darted his hand forward, squeezing her breast with such force that she yelped. And then all thought and patience left her because she had to get away from this.

Her fist found his throat this time, temporarily dislodging his hand from her chest, and when he reached up to pull at her, she kneed him in the groin, ignoring the shouts and hands all around her. Nicole swerved away from Jameson’s wild lunge, her fists making contact with his shoulder and his chest as she thrashed while the other men tried to grab at her.

Someone tore her shirt sleeve and another had an arm around her stomach, but she would not stop, she couldn’t stop.

“You’re a right fuck, is what you are!” She yelled, please to see a trickle of blood from Jameson’s nose. She could taste metal in her own mouth and spit, delighted when a bloody glob landed on Jameson’s jacket.

The hands on her arms and shoulders were suddenly replaced by a much more familiar touch, and she let Xavier pull her back from the mob. The small crowd glared at her and Nicole spit again, raising her fists in warning.

“What is the meaning of this?” Abberline descended the stairs two at a time, his footsteps loud on the marble stone. Nedley was slower behind him, but similarly stern.

“You’ve got an invert here, Inspector, a real Nancy and she’s got a whore with her! You should see how she goes about!”

Abberline stepped between Nicole and the group of officers. His face was unreadable and Nicole found herself suddenly concerned by what all of this could mean. Had she gone too far? Had she ruined this for Xavier?

She tried to stand straight, but Xavier had one hand around each of her biceps, holding her up and keeping her from making any sudden movements.

“What’s your name, boy?” Nedley had joined his comrade, shifting his gaze from Nicole to Jameson and back.

“Jameson, sir. Dicky Jameson.” The man in question moved away from his companions, the confidence clear on his face despite a bloody nose and bruised lip.

“You’re an embarrassment to us all, Jameson,” Nedley said. Jameson’s eyes widened.

“But, sir!”

“Not another word, boy,” Abbeline placed both hands on his hips, eyeing Jameson with clear contempt.

“My father will hear of this!” Jameson’s voice sounded higher than usual, almost a squeak, and it was enough to make Nedley wince.

“Hand in your badge and your baton, Jameson. You are done here. I cannot have this ruckus in my station, especially not at a time like this. Pull yourself together, son, you have made a fool of all men this day,” Nedley said, turning away before Jameson could response.

The Chief Inspector was obviously busy and left Abberline to clean up the mess. Nicole watched him climb the marble staircase once more with relief.

“You heard him,” Abberline said, “I doubt your mother raised you to speak to women in such a crude manner. And to hit a woman? Best to never show your face around here again. Out, now. The rest of you had better mind yourselves. Ms. Haught and Mr. Dolls are welcomed guests of the Met. You will treat them as such.”

Nicole and Xavier didn’t wait to watch Jameson leave the office in a huff. They retreated to their own office, shutting the door for a moment of privacy.

Nicole’s shirt sleeve was torn and her hair had come loose from its braid, but otherwise, she felt fine, if a bit winded.

“You’re bleeding,” Xavier said, pointing to her side.

The cut from the night before had come open, leaking through her dressings. Nicole shrugged and rolled up her sleeves, adrenaline bringing a smile to her face. She had won. Abberline and Nedley had sided with her. With them. Her heart felt light and for the first time in days, she felt hope.

“Mr. Dolls, shall we depart for the evening?” She offered her elbow and Xavier shook his head in affectionate exasperation.

“As long as you promise no more fisticuffs on the way home,” he warned, hooking his arm through hers.

Nicole laughed, pausing only to pocket her copy of the Ripper’s letter, before leaving behind the comforts of their new work space.

~*~

The last thing Nicole expected was a party in her honour.

Gibson’s welcomed Nicole and Xavier with open arms. Their entrance was met with a cheer and even Wynonna cracked a smile upon seeing Nicole.

“If it isn’t our own Johnny Sullivan!” John Henry placed a pint of beer in Nicole’s hand and winked at her. He looked almost happy? Nicole blinked twice in shock and then took a sip.

Mercy appeared from behind a stage door and Rosita followed her too, both making a bee-line to Nicole, who had taken the liberty of sitting at a table not far from John’s bar.

“The conquering hero!” Mercy circled around and slid into Nicole’s lap. It was surprising and Nicole felt herself wanting to push Mercy away, but no one made any fuss about it and it was nice to have someone warm in her lap.

Nicole playfully wrapped one arm around Mercy’s waist, steadying her, and tipped back her head in laughter.

“Who told you?” Nicole asked staring up into Mercy’s face.

“The copper told his pal, who told another pal, who told the grocer, who told his brother, who told Rosita here, and that’s how we know you fought for _us_,” Mercy said.

“She did indeed,” Xavier laughed, raising his own pint. He sat across from Nicole, equally cheery, and Wynonna had taken her place at his side.

“It is no small thing, ginger,” Wynonna said, offering Nicole a rare smirk. Nicole decided not to respond, instead she raised her pint to Wynonna and Wynonna nodded back.

“Tell us the tale, my love! Regale us with your bravery,” Mercy squirmed in Nicole’s lap and the beer made Nicole feel comfortable and bold. She squeezed Mercy’s hip and then turned to Rosita, who stood beside her, one arm draped over Nicole’s shoulders.

“There isn’t much to tell, ladies. I didn’t like the words he spoke. So I…shut him up?” Nicole sipped her beer again, delighted when both Mercy and Rosita began giggling.

Waverly was there too, somewhere on the other side of the room, but when Nicole caught her eye, she was met with a stern frown. Nicole was about to gently push Mercy from her when the woman in question tightened her hold.

“You’re a true gent, Nicole Haught, make me your wife!” Mercy said, pulling Nicole in by the collar of her torn shirt and planting a hard kiss on her lips.

Nicole didn’t think before kissing back. Mercy tasted like cigarettes and whisky, but Nicole’s reflexes were sluggish from the alcohol and fading adrenaline. She barely had time to breathe before Mercy pulled away and Rosita was there, kissing her with just as much pressure.

She vaguely heard the raucous cheer across the table and Wynonna’s _now now, you whores_.

Instead, she joined in the laughter, the feeling of belonging so overwhelming that Nicole wanted to cry. Mercy was on her lap, solid and joyful and Rosita next to her. Even Kate appeared behind the bar, a mysterious smile on her features as she toasted Nicole with a glass of wine provided by John Henry.

There were no more kisses. Nicole was too busy laughing and Mercy eventually skipped away, leaving Nicole blushing and amused.

Waverly was the only one who did not join the crowd. When Nicole looked for her again, she was nowhere to be seen.

~*~

The amusement of the evening was long gone by the time Nicole found herself alone in her room. She sat at the small desk, a tartan blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and stared down at the type-written letter from earlier in the day.

She shivered, the room was so much colder than Waverly’s and Nicole’s night clothes did little to ward away the chill.

The letter was unnerving. The original copy’s red ink made for a stomach-turning sight, but somehow the impersonal typography of Nicole’s copy made it equally terrible.

_Jack the Ripper_.

A proper name for whatever he was. Nicole closed her eyes, recalling the snap of a cape and the high, nasal voice in her ear. She could remember the feel of his fingers against her skin and shivered again.

Too many men had touched her in recent days, too many had taken liberties. Her body felt used and she wished she could take a bath, a deep, long, warm bath. She wanted to be fully submerged, away from the world, alone in a silent, watery tomb of her own making.

The letter was a threat. It was mocking. It came from a man with confidence, a man who knew just as much as they did, if not more.

“Nicole?”

Waverly’s voice came from the door and soon her face appeared. There were only two candles lit in the room, one on the desk and one by the bed, but it cast Waverly’s face in shadow, as if a phantom had entered the space.

Nicole sat back in her chair, lowering the pencil in her hand and looking curiously at Waverly who appeared sombre before her. Waverly wore the same wide skirt as the day they first met and her bodice was loose at the front, leaving her arms and chest naked.

“Waverly, is everything alright?”

Waverly did not move.

“I came to see that you were well.”

Nicole shifted uncomfortably, confused by Waverly’s formality and sullen expression.

“Yes, thank you, Gus can stitch my shirt and other than some bruising, I was unharmed.”

Waverly nodded once. Nicole could see the other woman’s jaw twitch.

“I saw you with Mercy and Rosita,” Waverly said, meeting Nicole’s gaze.

Waverly was angry. Nicole could see it in her eyes, but she was unsure why she had to defend herself. Somehow, however, she felt like she did.

“Just a farce, I assure you. Rosita and Mercy are my friends,” Nicole said.

“And what am I to you?”

The question immediately set Nicole on edge. She was being tested and Waverly’s face was so dark in the room that it was impossible to glean what the other woman truly meant. There was anger in her tone, but her eyes were a mystery to Nicole.

“Are we not friends, as well?” Nicole asked.

“Is that all we are?”

“I…Waverly, I don’t understand?”

Nicole turned in her chair so she was facing Waverly. She leaned back, taking the other woman in, desperately trying to navigate Waverly’s anger.

“You called yourself a creature alone, but you did not seem so alone tonight.”

“Waverly, please, I am sorry if I have offended you. It was not right to behave like that, I agree, and I won’t…”

“Did you like it?” Waverly took one step closer.

“What?”

“Did you like when they kissed you?”

“It was all in jest, Waverly,” Nicole said, watching as Waverly sorted through a small pile of coins Nicole had left on her desk.

“Have you ever kissed a woman before?”

Nicole couldn’t bring herself to answer. Waverly stopped her sorting to look Nicole in the eye. They were so close now, but Waverly’s face was still in shadow. She was no longer a phantom, but something much deadlier. Something with fangs.

“Well, have you? You know I have. Our first meeting gave that away,” Waverly said.

It was true. Waverly was right. And this _was_ Waverly, wasn’t it? The kind, talented, warm woman who’d tamed Nicole’s nightmares and listened to her deepest thoughts.

“Yes,” Nicole said, “once, as a school girl.”

“And did you like it?”

“Yes,” Nicole said. It was unfair. It was a confession she did not want to make. Waverly held some power over her.

“Did you do more? Have you ever touched a woman? Has a woman ever touched you?”

“Waverly, enough.” Nicole was polite, but she was not one for cruelty. And Waverly was being cruel.

“You haven’t, have you? But you want to.”

Waverly picked up four pennies from the desk and tucked them into a pocket in her skirts.

Nicole couldn’t make sense of it. Why was Waverly taking her money? Why was she being so cold? So heartless? It was unlike the woman Nicole had known since arriving at Gibson’s.

“Enough,” Nicole said again, preparing to stand, but Waverly stopped her with a hard hand to Nicole’s shoulder.

“Do you desire me?”

The question stopped Nicole’s movement. She stared at Waverly, brow furrowed, and for the first time since Waverly walked in, she understood.

Waverly was jealous.

Waverly was jealous of Rosita and Mercy. Waverly was jealous of Shae, her old school chum. Waverly was _jealous_ and Nicole didn’t know what to do with that information.

“Waverly, I do not understand your meaning or your intention here,” Nicole said.

“I think you do.”

“Waverly, please.”

“Have you ever had a wank thinking of a woman? Have you touched your fanny wishing it was mine?”

Nicole’s face turned so hot that she wanted to turn away from Waverly’s gaze and hide. The room was too dark to show her blush, but she thought she might die on the spot from such a question.

“Waverly…”

“I will leave right now if you ask me too,” Waverly said. The hand on Nicole’s shoulder remained, but her free hand hovered above the waistband of Nicole’s nightclothes.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me, Nicole. When I’m on stage. When I’m standing next to you. Last night in my bed. Tell me you want me to leave.”

Waverly fingers settled on the tie of Nicole’s trousers, her knuckles brushing the skin of Nicole’s abdomen.

“I can’t…” Nicole tried to say, but she couldn’t. She knew exactly what she wanted, she knew Waverly had known from the first day. But this couldn’t be. It was wrong. It was ungodly. It was deviant and disgusting and Nicole would spend an eternity in hellfire for even thinking such things as she thought.

Except…Nicole could smell Waverly’s skin this close. She could see the curve of her collarbone and her breast, those breasts that were barely concealed by a bodice. With every breath, Waverly risked exposure and with every breath Nicole prayed for a glimpse, she prayed to know what all of Waverly looked like.

“Tell me to leave,” Waverly said again, leaning in so closely that Nicole’s cheek brushed Waverly’s. The fingers against her middle twitched and Nicole felt herself clench. She knew what Waverly would find. She could feel the dampness seeping between her legs.

“I can’t do that,” Nicole whispered.

Waverly moved her hand again, deftly untying the knot of Nicole’s pants.

“Has anyone ever touched you here?” Waverly’s voice was soft in Nicole’s ear, her lips brushing the lobe. Nicole shivered. She didn’t want to speak, she didn’t know what she wanted except she felt herself spread her legs in the chair, as if by some ancient sorcery she could not understand.

“No,” she said, hating the confession, but then Waverly’s fingers were underneath the material of her nightclothes, just above the patch of coarse, auburn curls.

“Would you like me to touch you, Nicole? Do you want me to strum your fanny? Do you want me to be the first?”

Nicole could barely remember her own name, she had never felt like this before. The logical part of her brain was screaming _no_, but every other part of her body, the primitive, older part that had yearned for so long to be touched could not deny her what she’d longed for. Could not deny her Waverly.

“Please,” she said, embarrassed by the moan she released with the word.

“I need you to say it, sweetheart.”

“Yes.”

Waverly’s fingers descended. They tugged Nicole’s curls and then quickly found purchase between Nicole’s legs.

Nicole’s whole body shuddered at the feeling. She slammed her eyes shut and tipped her head forward, hiding her face against Waverly’s shoulder. Waverly’s fingers spread her open, they touched her heat and then moved up, just so, just to a place only Nicole knew.

The first touch of Waverly’s fingers to Nicole’s clit had Nicole lurching forward, overwhelmed, scared by the intensity of it all. Waverly said nothing as she moved her hand, making circles over Nicole’s clit, teasing her, testing her, each movement was a revelation and Nicole gasped for breath, her hands clawing against the chair’s arm rests.

Waverly did not still her hand, she circled Nicole’s clit and then pinched it, making Nicole hiss in pain and pleasure and surprise.

“You like this more, I think,” Waverly whispered, going back to making circles, the movement of her hand steady and sure. Her fingers moved up and down, stroking over and over, coaxing and teasing, and Nicole wished she could stop the sounds from her mouth, she wished she could calm herself, but it felt so good, she’d never…she’d never been touched and it was Waverly…Waverly was…

Nicole inhaled sharply as she clenched, the movement so hard that it ached between her legs. She whined, wishing to be filled, wishing for…she didn’t know, she didn’t have the words, she only had Waverly’s hands and the hot, wet mess she was leaving on her chair.

It burned like a cleansing fire, Nicole could feel something, the loosening of a knot, the undoing of an impossibility inside of her and when Waverly licked the shell of Nicole’s ear, Nicole could no longer maintain any form of control.

She cried out, shuddering over and over as Waverly quickened her pace, moving with Nicole, stroking her as Nicole’s hips thrust up, pulling her from the chair.

When it was over, Nicole opened her eyes, still panting, her throat dry from gasping so often. She was shaking, from pleasure, from fear, and Waverly’s hand on her shoulder disappeared, allowing her to slump back and try to catch her breath.

Waverly’s fingers disappeared, Nicole watched as Waverly brushed them against her skirt, the glistening dampness unmistakable in the candlelight. Nicole’s trousers were soaked through, she could see the stain between her legs, but could do little to move, to hide herself.

Nicole looked at Waverly and Waverly looked at Nicole. Neither said a word though Nicole wished she had the power to do so.

When Waverly raised her fingers to her nose, Nicole swallowed hard. When Waverly whimpered, pressing the same fingers to her lips, Nicole felt the echo of her release once more.

And then Waverly turned from the room, leaving Nicole alone.

The coins in her skirt clinked as she disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, I'd love some comments on this one. <3


	6. Silver Dagger

September 30, 1888

Nicole sat on the curb holding her head in her hands.

She didn’t care that the street was dirty or that the cold stone was seeping into her woolen trousers. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried her best to still the nauseous waves rippling through her stomach.

“Nicole?” Xavier stood behind, but she didn’t turn, she needed to get a hold of herself.

“Two bodies, Xavier,” she said, the tremor in her voice betraying her inner turmoil.

“I know, old friend.” A warm hand settled on her shoulder and Nicole took a deep breath.

Nicole could only shake her head, the rough wool of her hat rubbing against her ears provided a centering sensation that kept her tethered to the world. She so wanted to stand up and walk away from it all.

The blood. The gore. Waverly who she knew was somewhere on the scene with her paper and pencil looking as proper as a lord’s wife.

“Nicole,” Xavier said again, his voice close to her ear as he crouched down next to her, “we have work to do. We owe it to them.”

It was a truth Nicole could not avoid. She grasped at it with her mind, but kept her eyes closed.

~*~

_The dark was all encompassing. Nicole watched as the candle on her desk flickered out, but she could not bring herself to move._

_The spot between her legs that had been warm had chilled, leaving her feeling like a child with soiled bed clothes. She couldn’t stand the feeling._

_She did not know what she had just done. She did not know what it made her. But she did know she couldn’t stay seated in the chair for one more second._

_Standing, she stripped herself of her nightclothes, tossing them on the floor. The cool air of the room hit her and she shivered, stumbling just a little as she turned to the basin of water next to the files she had left on the desk._

_Nicole picked up a cloth and soaked it in the cool water. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and looked away, hating how vulnerable she looked, how weak._

_She pressed the cloth to her chest, inhaling sharply at the cold water against her skin, but it felt good, it made her feel awake. She scrubbed harshly, under her arms and then between her legs, over and over again, washing away the evidence of her want, of her sin where it had stained her thighs._

_Her heart was beating so quickly that it made her feel faint and she dropped the cloth, hurriedly dipping her hands into the basin and splashing cold water on her face. _

_A few droplets fell onto her files and she stared at them, the dark stain against the paper. It steadied her. It gave her purpose in the midst of the chaos of her own creation._

_There was work to be done._

_It only took moments for Nicole to dress. Each layer of clothing made her feel stronger, safer. The familiar, well-worn trousers. Her only shirt left – a light calico with white stripes. The buttons stopped at mid-chest and she liked how it hid the curves of her body well. She liked how it hid her._

_With each item of clothing, Nicole felt herself warm. Her waistcoat was a welcome weight and her heavy, wool jacket provided even more protection. She re-braided her hair and set her hat upon her head. In the mirror, her reflection now looked more familiar, stronger, and she could almost pretend that she no longer felt the brush of Waverly’s fingers. _

_She considered leaving a note for Xavier on the second-floor landing, but she could not bear stepping anywhere close to Waverly Earp. So with a quick scribble on a scrap of paper left on her own desk, Nicole took her files and walked into the dark hallway. _

_It was far more frightening to stay indoors than to face the night._

~*~

The closed door of their office offered much needed shelter for Nicole and Xavier. Nicole did not ask after Waverly, she could see evidence of the woman’s presence in the ghastly sketches in Xavier’s hands. But Waverly was a distraction and a temptation. She was sin incarnate and Nicole would not waste another moment on her. Not when two women had lost their lives while Nicole gave in to weakness.

“Here are the notes from the witnesses,” Xavier said, handing Nicole a stack of papers. He pinned Waverly’s sketches to the slate, Nicole could hardly stand to look at them.

“The first one, Elizabeth Stride, she was seen with at least two men last night,” Nicole said, eying the hastily scribbled notes.

“And the other…”

“Catherine Eddowes. She was, good lord, you won’t believe this.” Nicole shook her head, tossing the notes on a nearby desk.

“What?”  
  


“She was in the custody of the London City Police until one in the morning. Coroner thinks she was dead by two. Maybe earlier.”

“Christ.”

A knock at the door made both Xavier and Nicole jump. Between their increasingly hostile work-mates and the killer on the loose, they were both on edge.

“Haught, Dolls, a word,” Abberline walked in, carefully closing the door behind him. He appeared drawn, his usually impeccably kept uniform was creased, as if he’d slept in it.

“Sir?” Xavier stepped forward, offering Abberline a chair. Abberline declined.

“The London City Police have offered to join us in the hunt. We have accepted their help,” Abberline explained. Nicole and Xavier nodded silently.

“The letter will be published today,” Abberline shook his head as he spoke, obviously torn about the notion.

“Is that wise, Sir?” Xavier asked.

“What choice do we have? There has been a clear escalation and we are floundering.”

“And there is the matter of Catherine Eddowes’ ear,” Nicole said.

“What’s that?” Abberline turned towards her.

“The letter, Sir, Jack the Ripper promised to clip her ear. And it would seem that he has.”

“Who is this monster? Have you seen the autopsy reports?” Abberline asked, removing a sheet of paper from his coat pocket.

He handed it to Nicole who felt her stomach turn at the information.

“Elizabeth Stride died from a cut to the throat. But Catherine Eddowes…” she trailed off, unable to articulate what she was reading.

“He butchered her. Beyond belief, beyond anything I thought man capable of,” Abberline said.

Xavier shook his head and exhaled.

“Do we know anything else,” he asked, “about these women? Their families?”

“Stride was a widow, no children that we’ve found so far. Eddowes had three young ones, we’re trying to find her husband now. It seems they were estranged and she had taken up with another man, a John Kelly.”

“We’ll need to talk with Kelly. Do we know why she was in lock up last night?” Nicole doubted that John Kelly had much to do with the murder, but it was standard police procedure.

“Drunk and disorderly.”

“Hmm,” Nicole nodded, eying the slate across the room.

Each of the victims had a dependency on alcohol. Each used the street as a means of extra finances. Many had families or children, but were estranged from them. It gave her nothing more to work on, but she knew their killer preyed on the most vulnerable. He was cowardly. He was less than human.

“The coroner has dismissed your theory, by the way,” Abberline said, shaking Nicole from her thoughts.

“My theory?”

“That the Ripper is an anatomist or a doctor. They say his work on Ms. Eddowes was amateur, barbaric. There was no skill in his removal of her kidney or the other…mutilations.”

Nicole crossed the room and finally looked at the sketch Waverly had left of Catherine Eddowes’ body.

“Don’t you see? He wants us to think that? He is ahead of us and he is playing with us!” Nicole pointed to the image and then turned to Abberline and Dolls.

“Perhaps,” Xavier said.

“I am right, Xavier. Think of his letter. He knows we thought him a doctor! And now he’s done _this_. To throw us off the scent.”

Abberline checked his pocket watch and sighed heavily. He looked haunted, more haunted than he had before, and Nicole knew they were all feeling the hopelessness of the situation.

“I must be off,” he said, straightening his coat.

“We won’t leave, Sir, we’ll keep working,” Nicole said.

Abberline nodded and left.

~*~

“Are you ready?”

Nicole did not look up from the desk, nor did she wish to. She knew what Xavier was asking and the very thought of it made her head hurt.

“Nicole?”

How was she supposed to explain to her oldest friend that returning to Gibson’s was impossible? That the idea of even looking at Waverly had her stomach turning.

“Go without me. I’ll stay here,” she said, swallowing back nausea as she looked at the Met’s official crime scene photos.

“Nicole.”

“Xavier, I told Abberline that I would keep working and I mean to do so.”

Xavier’s hand was suddenly in her field of vision, gently removing the photograph from Nicole’s grip.

“What happened?” His question was gentle, but firm. Xavier Dolls was not one for foolishness or heart sickness, despite his complex relationship with Wynonna Earp.

“Xavier, I would rather not say.” Nicole finally looked up. Xavier did not seem impressed.

“You would not even acknowledge Waverly’s presence today, despite her commendable work. What happened?”

“Xavier, please.”

“I cannot help you if you do not allow me to, Nicole,” Xavier said.

Nicole’s shoulders slumped. She could not speak it into existence. She could not.

“I would rather stay here for now. It’s safe, the chesterfield is comfortable enough.”

“Would you at least come to fetch your clothing? I would rather not sort through your underthings,” Xavier said, his eyes crinkling in humour.

“I would rather…”

“Nicole, I do not know what has transpired. I do not know why you are hiding away, but I do know that you are no good to anyone without rest and sustenance. If you will not stay at Gibson’s, at the very least, come for some food.”

Nicole knew that her friend was right. She knew that she needed a warm meal and she could not spend another night trying to sleep in her boots.

She nodded silently at Xavier, hoping he did not notice how her hands trembled as she stood and followed him from the office.

~*~

Gibson’s was subdued.

The lights from the dancehall were still bright, but instead of the boisterous laughing and clink of dishes, there only seemed to be a low mumble and a soft piano tune.

Nicole found herself pausing in the entrance of the building, standing next to the staircase, deciding whether she wanted to make her presence known. It would be easy to avoid Gibson’s and its inhabitants. She could walk up the three flights of stairs to her bedroom, grab what little she had and leave again.

But there was also the matter of her job, which required her to investigate. And investigation meant speaking to witnesses. Mercy Gardner could be helpful.

Nicole shifted her weight to her left foot and then her right, ignoring Xavier as he rolled his eyes at her and disappeared into the dancehall. She knew her friend was frustrated witt her behaviour. They had a case to solve and her sudden dramatics were not helpful. She wished she could explain it all to him, perhaps she could, but Nicole was more likely to slit herself open from throat to groin than tell her best friend what she had done.

“Miss Haught?”

Gus appeared on the stairs and Nicole startled. Waverly’s aunt seemed like a sour woman, her face permanently creased into a frown. But she also made Gibson’s work – she cleaned, she fixed, and she cared for both Wynonna and Waverly in ways Nicole likely had yet to fully understand.

“Oh, hello, Gus,” Nicole said, removing her cap.

Gus walked down the remaining stairs and stopped in front of Nicole.

“I’ve managed to mend that shirt of yours,” Gus said, pursing her lips.

“Thank you for your kindness. I apologize for the bother.”

“You’re a queer woman, Miss Haught. I expect brawls from the likes of Mercy, but from you? Hmmph.”

“It is most out of character,” Nicole tried to explain, blushing as Gus raised an eyebrow at her in disbelief.

“I’ve left some extra shirts on your bed. They belonged to my husband – may be a bit roomy – but you’ll need more than what you have.”

“Gus, that is so kind,” Nicole found herself saying again, unsure why this woman who seemed so cold was behaving so nicely.

“It’s no kindness. My Waverly would cause a ruckus if I let you leave this house in rags.”

Nicole swallowed hard and turned away, unable to meet Gus’s eyes. She wondered what Waverly had said about her. What Gus knew. Two days ago she would have trusted Waverly to keep her confidence. But now…

“_There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy_…”

Gus’s voice pulled Nicole from her thoughts once more.

“Pardon?”

“I’m no scholar, not like my Waverly, but while she is intelligent about a great many things, when it comes to the heart, well…” Gus tossed her hands up.

“What do…”

“Waverly likes Shakespeare, she likes that part in particular, but she does not apply it to herself when she should.”

Gus shrugged. Nicole felt lost, but if Gus noticed she did not show it. Instead she keeps talking.

“I do not pretend to understand the contents of your mind, Miss Haught, but I know my niece and I know decency when I see it. We live in a time of fear, maybe we always have, but you have brought a light to her smile that I have not seen in many years and that is no small thing,” Gus reached for Nicole’s elbow and squeezed.

Nicole found herself trying to speak, but had no words to say.

“Now,” Gus continued, pulling Nicole forward, “go and eat your supper and do what you please after that. I’ll not ask kindly the next time.”

Nicole mustered a smile and nodded once. It was easier than arguing with Gus.

~*~

The dancehall was half-empty and mournful.

A few chairs near the stage were inhabited by regulars, but the boisterous applause that usually accompanied each act were gone. Only Rosita was on stage, juggling what appeared to be apples, but Charles Hardy was notably absent. As was Waverly.

Nicole stepped fully into the room, looking left and right as she did, and when she deemed the space safe, she quietly took her seat at a table close to the bar, avoiding the back of the room. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She wanted to go back to the office.

“Dark day, copper.”

Wynonna appeared with a mug of ale in her hand but did not offer it to Nicole. She looked much more demure than usual, her shoulders and arms covered by a shawl. Nicole could see the worry etched on Wynonna’s features. Even with one hand occupied with beer, the other seemed to always find the gun at her hip. Wynonna was on guard and jumpy. Nicole couldn’t blame her.

“The darkest yet, Miss Earp,” Nicole said.

It was Mercy who brought Nicole dinner, setting down a glass of beer and a bowl of mash and bacon. It smelled lovely, but Nicole wasn’t hungry.

“He got Long Liz and Katie. All in one,” Mercy said. Nicole pushed the bacon around with her spoon and offered Mercy a sympathetic glance.

“I am going right back to work once I finish this meal, Mercy,” Nicole said.

“Are you?” Wynonna raised one eyebrow in question.

“Yes.”

“Staying the night?”

Nicole wondered if Waverly had spoken to Wynonna. She wondered if all of Gibson’s knew what had transpired between them. The thought made her stomach turn, but she forced herself to swallow some mash, willing it down her throat.

“Yes,” Nicole said again. Wynonna set down her cup and reached into the pocket of her skirts. She retrieved a small pistol and set it in front of Nicole.

“Best mind yourself then,” Wynonna said. The two women exchanged a glance, understanding drifting between them without the need for words.

“I will. Thank you.” Nicole took the gun and slipped it into the pocket of her coat. She lifted the garment as she did, standing from the table and shrugging into her jacket.

“Will we be seeing you again?” Wynonna asked.

Nicole tucked her hands into her pockets, the pistol cool and heavy against the wool.

“Not until this is done,” Nicole said.

“Is there something I’m to know about?”

Wynonna had a way of cutting through Nicole’s attempts at subtlety. It was unnerving and annoying.

“No, Wynonna.”

“Because I would die before I allowed harm to come to my sister,” Wynonna said. Nicole did not miss the way Wynonna’s hand lingered over her hip, where the large rifle always hung.

“Then you need not worry, Wynonna. At least not where I’m concerned.”

Wynonna’s blue eyes flickered in suspicion and Nicole swallowed hard, realizing that she may have misspoken. But she had no interest in clarifying her words and turned before Wynonna had a chance to respond.

In the seconds it took for Nicole to drift from the table to the entrance of the dance hall, Waverly had taken the stage, quiet and without the usual fanfare.

Nicole paused her steps, lingering, surprised to see Waverly in a casual wide skirt and the bodice she favoured when she was not performing. She sat on a stool in the middle of the stage, a guitar in her hands, and Nicole wondered why she’d never seen the instrument before.

Waverly’s voice was as pure and haunting as it had been the first time Nicole heard it. In the quiet room, it filled every corner, reaching and soaring like tendrils of smoke.

_Don’t sing love songs,_

_You’ll wake my mother._

_She’s sleeping here right by my side._

_In her right hand is a silver dagger._

_She says that I can’t be your bride_.

Xavier was not at his usual table and when Nicole glanced at the bar, she could see Wynonna in John Henry’s arms. They were hugging, maybe more, their foreheads pressed together in an intimate embrace and Nicole turned away. Kate had seen the exchange too, Nicole recognized the anger and hurt on Kate’s face from across the room. It all made her stomach churn.

_All men are fools,_

_So says my mother._

_They’ll tell you again_

_Love and lies._

_And then they’ll go_

_And court some-other,_

_Leave you alone to pine inside_.

Without a full audience, the dancehall looked dingy and small. The floors were sticky and Nicole realized that the crimson velvet curtain was moth-eaten and soiled. She wondered why she’d never noticed it before.

_My daddy is a handsome devil._

_He’s got a chain five miles long._

_On every link, a heart does dangle_

_Of another maid he’s loved and wronged._

Mercy stumbled somewhere to the right, tripping over her feet and landing hard on a table. Nicole thought about going over to help, but Rosita was there, equally intoxicated, pulling at Mercy’s elbow. They pushed and pulled at each other for a moment before walking back towards the thin audience, finding laps and hands open and eager.

_Go court another tender maiden._

_In hopes that she might be your wife._

_For I’ve been warned so I decided,_

_I’ll sleep alone all of my life_.

Without Charles Hardy in the audience, Waverly’s eyes found the back of the room, searching. Nicole boldly met her gaze. The lights made it impossible to see Waverly’s face properly – Nicole couldn’t tell if she was crying or if her eyes were dry. But the words did enough to let Nicole know that it was time to depart. She turned her back on Waverly, haunted by the final lyrics of the song as she prepared to leave Gibson’s for good.

_Beware, beware a silver dagger…_

~*~

October 1st, 1888

The morning was grey and rainy, but Nicole enjoyed the cool droplets against her face. She sat in the windowsill of her office, slowly sipping a cup of tea, luxuriating in the warmth of the liquid as it seeped through the chipped porcelain cup she held carefully in her hand.

Jack the Ripper’s letter was all over the newspapers and with the letter came piles and piles of postcards and notes all claiming to be in the Ripper’s hand. Nicole knew it was likely the outcome of making the Ripper’s words public. She had a stack of crumpled letters on the desk, waiting for her comments. But the rain felt so nice and it had been so long since Nicole felt like she’d had a clear head.

Xavier was at the Met headquarters, consulting with Abberline and Nedley. The addition of the City of London police force made the investigation even more difficult than before. Logically, Nicole knew they could use the manpower. But they were searching for a phantom, a genius…

She shook her head at the thought. They were searching for a man. A sick, monstrous, human being. The papers publicly dismissed the notion that he was a trained anatomist, but Nicole knew they were wrong. She knew Jack was playing with them. The idea put her off her tea.

Nicole sensed that the door was about to open before it did, soft footsteps and a knock doing enough to give her warning. But she did not expect Waverly Earp to step inside, nor did she expect that rush of anger she felt at the other woman’s presence.

“Miss Earp?” She said, setting her cup down on the desk and folding her arms. Waverly was dressed like a proper lady, the collar of her coat buttoned all the way to her chin. It was a farce. Nicole despised it.

“Oh, is that how it is?” Waverly asked, tilting her head and offering a small, but noticeable smile.

“This is a place of business and as you can see, I have a great deal of work to do,” Nicole said, gesturing to the pile of letters on the table.

“You did not speak to me yesterday, nor did you come home last night.”

Nicole did not move from her spot, the feel of her arms crossed giving her a false sense of protection.

“Two women died, Miss Earp, I had little to say. Besides, I have no home, nor anyone to miss me. What should it matter where I sleep?”

Waverly stepped further into the room, clasping her gloved hands in front of her.

“I would say that it matters a great deal,” Waverly said.

Nicole shook her head, balling her hands into fists.

“Do not do that.”

“Do what?” Waverly’s coyness was out of place.

“_That_. Do not pretend to care,” Nicole shoved her hands in her pockets lest she slam them against the desk. She was having trouble staying still.

“But I do care,” Waverly said, her face marked with genuine confusion over Nicole’s words.

“You do not. Not for me or anyone but yourself and your sister and your _work_.”

The confused expression turned to anger. Waverly blushed and the muscle in her jaw twitched.

“I did not take you for one so ignorant, Nicole Haught. You have misrepresented yourself.”

“Ha! Misrepresent myself? Surely you have it incorrect, Miss Earp.”

“You understand nothing then,” Waverly’s words were sharp, cold. Her entire form was rigid. It made her seem taller than she was, taller and dangerous.

Nicole shrugged, and shook her head.

“I understand enough.”

“No, I do not think you do. What is it you want from me?”

The question was a killing blow. Nicole thought briefly of climbing out the window to avoid it, but she was here and Waverly was here and it was time to end whatever it was that existed between them. She would not have Waverly toying with her. Not in her own office.

“I want nothing from you.” Nicole spat.

“We both know that is a lie.”

“Then tell me what I want from you, Miss Earp. If you are so wise, tell me.”

“You are a fool,” Waverly said, “a cowardly fool.”

“And you are a manipulator and a liar. Are we even now?”

“You want me. Say it. Confess yourself.” Waverly set a challenge and Nicole was not willing to stumble at this moment. Whatever truth lay in the statement no longer mattered.

“You know nothing about me. You do not know my mind. Or my heart. Do not feign knowledge of who I am.”

“I know your mind and your heart. I know more than that,” Waverly stepped closer to Nicole, but they kept the desk between them.

“Stop this, Miss Earp. Leave, I am asking you kindly. Leave so I may work,” Nicole said, gesturing once more to the table.

“I will not move from here until you tell me what you want from me.”

“This is preposterous! Say what you wish to say, woman.”

Nicole was not about to pour her heart out to Waverly. She was done giving pieces of herself away in some foolish hope of better things. She was done.

Waverly’s cold demeaner changed once more and had it not been for the anger between them, Nicole would have found the spark in Waverly’s green eyes alluring.

“You want me. You have wanted me since the day you first saw me. You wanted me then and you wanted me last night and you cannot stand that you cannot have what you want.”

Waverly’s voice rose with each accusation, landing against Nicole like the dull thuds of a closed fist.

It shocked her at first, it silenced her, but not for long.

“It does not matter what I want, Miss Earp. I should have never allowed you into my room last night. I take the blame for my weakness in that. We are done. As friends, as colleagues. We are finished. I want nothing from you,” Nicole said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“You are so afraid. I can smell your fear, Nicole, it disgusts me.”

“What would you like me to say, then? Huh? What answer would you like from me?” Nicole raised her hands, palm up, exasperated with Waverly’s nonsensical jibes.

“I want the truth! I want your precious little fantasy of what you thought _this _could be.”

“A truth and a fantasy are vastly different, Miss Earp.”

“You play with words,” Waverly said, stabbing one finger in Nicole’s direction.

“And you do not?”

“You wanted a life together, did you not? A cozy little cottage? A ring on my finger?”

The image was so clear in Nicole’s mind that she forced her eyes shut, if only to erase it all. She had barely let herself think of it, barely let herself ponder a life where Waverly was more to her than a treasured friend. But every word from Waverly’s mouth destroyed that hope. She felt each syllable singe and lick at the edges of her dreams. 

“Stop it,” Nicole said, “stop speaking. I do not wish to speak anymore.”

“You look at Charles Hardy as though he were a foe. As if defeating him could somehow grant you what you dare not say. As if defeating him would let you have me, as if I am something to be _won_.” Waverly was shouting, her face red and bright.

“He is not _my_ foe, but yours. You cannot see it because you are too busy kneeling before him.”

“Is that what you think of him? Is that what you think I am doing?”

Nicole exhaled sharply, crossing the room to stand in front of the fire place. She wanted some distance between her and Waverly. She needed the illusion of space.

“You call me a coward and a fool, but at least I am free. At least I am not owned,” Nicole said lowly, turning to look at Waverly whose eyes widened at the accusation.

“Do you know what his money buys?”

“The same as mine, I presume.”

Waverly blushed furiously. It was the first time Nicole had seen her do so and she took a second to inwardly congratulate herself. Anger bubbled so close to the surface, but seeing Waverly stumble urged Nicole on.

“He keeps me clothed,” Waverly said, her voice shaking, “and Wynonna clothed. He keeps all of us off the street. He keeps John Henry in a job and the girls in their beds and the doors open at Gibson’s. So, yes, I do what he asks of me. I call him handsome and I suck his cock and I let him put it in me whether I want him to or not. But, my God, Nicole, he keeps us all alive, how can you not see that?”

It was as if ice water filled the room, flooding in from the window and the door. Nicole shivered where she stood, the words and the images they evoked making her chest feel heavy.

“Waverly…”

“You spoke of feeling alone, a creature all alone in this world. But you are no different than him, are you? I know what you want of me. I felt it last night between your legs.”

“I…”

“What? Will you take me away from here? Far away? From him, from all the blood and sweat and stink? Your wife somewhere hidden and safe?” Each word dripped with mockery, coated in Waverly’s cold fury.

Nicole wanted to say yes. She wanted to grab hold of Waverly’s arms and tell her that they could run away, that they could be together in some impossible way. But her words failed.

“Without him I would go to the streets,” Wavelry said, “Not even John Henry’s medicines could save me. Would you desire me with no nose, Nicole? No teeth?”

“Waverly, stop.”

“Maybe I wish you could take me away, maybe I do, but you will not throw me out of this office and you will not treat me like I am beneath you. I work to live, same as you. Only I know the difference between dreams and reality. I know the way this world works. There is no rescue. There is no ring. There is only life and death and I choose life, Nicole, by any means necessary.”

Nicole sighed heavily and shook her head. She looked at Waverly and then looked down, her eyes finding a spot on the floor. It was easier than seeing the pain in those hazel-green eyes.

“Why did you do what you did last night?”

“You said that I should,” Waverly said.

“No, why did you come to my room in the first place? Why did you take the money? Why did you…you didn’t have to…I…”

“Nothing in this world is free, Nicole. Not pleasure. Not pain.”

“You were jealous,” Nicole whispered.

“What did you say?”

“You saw Mercy kiss me. And Rosita. And it made you jealous.”

“I was no such thing.”

“But I am the liar? I am at fault for my secrets? I am full of fantasy?” Nicole bit her lip, trying to keep harsher words from slipping out.

“Nicole…”

“You ask what I want from you, but perhaps I should ask what you want from me? Because if I am a fool, you are too, Miss Earp. You are as afraid as I, more so, I can see it all over your face.”

Waverly held her head high and scowled.

“I will no longer listen to _this_. I came to speak truths and make peace and instead I have found you in a foul temper.”

“Very well. Run, Miss Earp, I do not plan to see you again.”

“I did not take you for a cruel woman, Nicole.”

“Nor I you.”

Nicole tucked her hands into her pocket, curling her fingers around the few coins she found there. She raised her hand, looking at her palm that now held a few pennies, and tossed them at Waverly’s feet before the other woman could leave.

“For your time,” Nicole said.

Waverly slammed the door on her way out.

~*~

October 2, 1888

“What do you say?”

Xavier held a postcard in his hand, flipping it repeatedly. Nicole rubbed her eyes and yawned, stretching in her chair.

“I say we have been at this for hours and the chesterfield is murder on my back,” she said.

The later afternoon sun made the room warm, but Nicole had barely looked up from her task. The letters and postcards all boasted of horrors, but none held the same tone as the original “Dear Boss” letter. Xavier had tried to keep the desk organized, but the number of documents grew every hour and with each new delivery, Nicole felt more and more despair.

“You could return to a warm bed, you know,” Xavier said, raising an eyebrow towards Nicole.

“Let’s keep at it,” Nicole answered, refusing to look her friend in the eye.

When the door opened moments later, they both assumed it was another rookie inspector carrying a sack of mail for their analysis.

Instead it was Wynonna Earp, breathless and wild-eyed. Where Waverly had a talent for blending into her surroundings, Wynonna looked like a tropical bird on a grey, London afternoon. Her coat was open, hastily tossed over a man’s shirt and she wore breaches and the ever-present rifle at her hip.

“Wynonna?” Xavier asked, his voice full of concern.

Wynonna looked from Xavier to Nicole and back again. Her words came out in a tumble of fear.

“Waverly is missing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song lyrics from Dolly Parton's "Silver Dagger" (though the lyrics are originally from an old British folk ballad). Shakespeare quote from Hamlet. Angst from my brain.


	7. Why Not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: mentions of child abuse, drug use.

It occurred to Nicole later that her memory of that moment would always exist as a before and after.

There was before Wynonna stepped into the office. And there was after.

Everything before ceased to matter because Waverly was missing. Every word spoken between them, every feeling, Nicole dismissed it instantly.

Because Waverly was missing and there was a killer on the loose using live women as cadavers.

“What do you mean?” Nicole heard herself ask, unaware that she had decided to speak at all.

Wynonna turned from Xavier to look at Nicole with haunted blue eyes.

“She was called to Hardy’s last night, but didn’t return. She’s usually back by the afternoon, but when I sent a letter, I was told she had departed as usual,” Wynonna explained.

“And do you know for certain she left?” If Xavier was concerned, he hid it well, one hand stroking his beard in thought.

“Why do you think I am here?” Wynonna shook her head, gesturing at both Nicole and Xavier.

“What do you mean?” Xavier stood from the desk. It occurred to Nicole that he was angry? Or displeased? Wynonna’s presence was making him uncomfortable.

Except Waverly was missing and Nicole didn’t understand why they weren’t searching the streets.

“I need you,” Wynonna said pointing at Nicole, “to come with me to Hardy’s estate. Now.”

“Me?” Nicole wasn’t against the idea, but Wynonna hadn’t exactly been a close friend or ally.

“Yes, you. You’re scrappy as they come. I like our odds in a fight.”

“I mean…”

“Listen, copper, I’ve seen you come home with bruises and cuts nearly every day since your arrival. You come with me,” Wynonna said and Nicole found herself unable to disagree.

“Alright. Let’s go,” Nicole responded, reaching for her coat. She slipped into it quickly, checking her pocket for the pistol Wynonna had given her.

“Wait, wait, I should go!” Xavier said, but Wynonna wasn’t willing to listen. She crossed the room, opening a few cabinets before finding the sherry.

“You need to go get John and meet us there,” Wynonna said, taking a swig from the bottle. She made a face and shook her head, mumbling something about _posh twats_ as she did.

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t accompany you two? John can be sent for.” Xavier’s scowl made Nicole roll her eyes. Perhaps this is what it was like to be on the other side of a lover’s spat? Perhaps this is why Xavier had been frustrated with her own behaviour mere hours before?

“Enough,” Nicole said, stepping between Wynonna and Xavier. She opened the cabinet next to Wynonna’s head and retrieved a bowie knife and its scabbard.

“Xavier, do as Wynonna says. We are wasting time.”

“See? Ginger copper agrees with me,” Wynonna waved the bottle of sherry at Xavier, but Nicole shook her head, grabbing Wynonna’s shoulder and then pointing to the desk.

“You’re like a child. Write Hardy’s address here and then lead the way.”

“And you’re as staunch as Xavier’s gran!”

“Hey!” Xavier snatched the paper from Wynonna’s hand and then took the bottle of sherry too.

“Out with you,” Nicole said. Wynonna shared one last look with Xavier before pushing past the office doors.

~*~

“Can this fool drive any faster?”

Wynonna sat uneasily in the back the hansom cab, fidgeting with her rifle. Nicole was squished in next to her, equally uncomfortable, and Wynonna’s constant movement was not making it any better.

The light had long faded and Nicole looked out over the horse’s back to see the streets widen as the lamplighters did their nightly task. The wind was cold and the driver’s whip was all Nicole could see of him, so she could not be sure whether the man was driving slowly or quickly, only that there was still a long way to go to Mayfair.

“Be still, Wynonna,” Nicole growled, her long legs cramped in the cab. Wynonna huffed but obeyed, pulling the rifle from its holster and laying it across her lap. Nicole looked down at the weapon, admiring the gleaming shaft and its odd, white handle.

“I’ve used it before, don’t think I’ll refrain just because you’re a copper,” Wynonna said.

Nicole looked away from the gun and into its owner’s face.

“I know.”

“Oh?” Wynonna looked surprised, her eyebrows arching, before settling into a frustrated, but understanding gaze.

“Waverly told you?”

“She did.”

Wynonna seemed surprised by the information. She sized up Nicole, her mouth pressed into a thin line, and then shrugged, her body bouncing as the cab’s wheel caught on a poorly placed brick.

“My only regret is that I didn’t do it sooner,” Wynonna said, still staring at Nicole. It was an obvious challenge. Wynonna liked to push and prod and see if her victim would bend. But Nicole managed to keep her face expressionless.

“It sounds like your father was a terrible man,” Nicole’s response was low, but she did not fear staring back at Wynonna. This wasn’t Gibson’s. This wasn’t a jibe about her heart or her desire or her sin. This was about Waverly’s safety.

The cab jostled and Nicole reached for the seat, trying to settle herself against the movement. It was taking too long. She wanted to leap onto the horse before them and ride faster.

“My mother put Waverly into my arms the day she was born,” Wynonna said, her voice loud enough to hear over the horse’s hooves and the cab’s wheels.

“She was a tiny thing. Maybe too small, I don’t know. But Mama said that she was mine to mind and then Mama left us in the hands of a useless brute who liked his liquor more than his children. Willa saw Waverly as another mouth to feed, but not me. No. Waverly was mine.”

“We will find her, Wynonna,” Nicole said, awkwardly placing her hand on Wynonna’s arm. Wynonna pulled away.

“I tried to protect her as best I could. But he’d find her – pull her little arms and legs. Willa was no better. And then I walked in one day…he had his belt off, the back of her leg was bleeding from where the buckle broke her skin, and I…I shot him. Between the eyes as he turned around. She still has the scar.”

Nicole grit her teeth, turning again to the road.

“And then I tried to keep her away from the stage, from the men. But her voice…” Wynonna shook her head, fear turning her movements awkward.

“She sang and the men followed. At first I sent her the kinder ones, and if there was a woman, well…that was better. And then Charles Hardy walked in on his birthday and took one look at her…”

“Wynonna, she will be okay,” Nicole said, needed to hear the words herself.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Didn’t take you for a liar, copper.”

“I’m not a liar.”

“You’ve seen what the Ripper can do. I read about it. He did it to Willa, he could do it to…”

“No,” Nicole said, shaking her head fiercely, “no. Hardy has her. And we will get her back.”

“Thought you said I had nothing to worry about concerning _you_, Nicole Haught.”

Wynonna’s eyes could be piercing. Nicole looked away.

“I understand that this is a family affair and…”

“And you’re wearing my dead uncle’s shirt,” Wynonna elbowed Nicole’s side.

_And you’re wearing John’s trousers_…

Nicole thought it best to keep her thoughts to herself.

~*~

The sun had long set by the time their hansom cap came to a halt in front of a gated fence. Gas-lamps lit the road, but Nicole was struck by the darkness and the queer fog that seemed to swirl about their ankles on the sidewalk.

“Earp, what is your plan?” Nicole asked, following Wynonna from the cab to the gate. Wynonna pushed the metal bars and Nicole was surprised when they swung open, revealing a large courtyard and an impressive manor home. It loomed over the pavement, but there were lights in some of the windows. Compared to the cramped tenements of White Chapel, the Hardy Manor appeared to be pristine, a monument to old wealth.

“We go in and get my sister,” Wynonna said, her revolver held firmly in one hand. Nicole quickened her pace, reaching Wynonna just as she was about to knock on the door. Nicole pulled Wynonna’s closed fist away.

“You cannot just waltz in unhinged!” Nicole hissed. Wynonna pulled her hand away and pounded on the door.

“Why not?”

“Damn it, Earp!” Nicole pulled the small pistol from her pocket and steadied herself.

Wynonna was mid-knock when the door opened a crack to reveal a startled footman.

“Ma’am?” He said, looking Wynonna up and down.

“Where is Hardy?”

Wynonna wedged her elbow against the door and pushed, sending the footman sprawling to the ground. He sputtered as she stepped over him and Nicole was left with no choice but to follow Wynonna into the home. They’d lost the element of surprise now and she was doubtful the rest of their escapade would go so smoothly.

“Hardy!” Wynonna yelled standing in the midst of a wide foyer. There were rooms on either side and before them, a wide staircase divided at the top. The home was so large that it would take an age to search on their own. Nicole hoped Hardy made himself known.

“Where is Lord Hardy?” Nicole leaned over the fallen servant who was busy pushing himself from the ground and dusting his knees.

“You cannot just…”

“You there,” Wynonna said, disappearing into one of the side rooms off the main entryway, “where Charles Hardy?”

There were three men sitting in what appeared to be a lounge, each looking more concerned than the other. Nicole took in their attire – last night’s formal wear – and immediately knew something was amiss. They appeared to have stayed in the same clothing all day and there were top hats and waistcoats strewn about the room.

“Ma’am…” one of them said, raising his hands as he approached Wynonna.

“Speak now, little lord, I’m losing patience!” Wynonna raised her gun.

“Who are you?” Another of the men moved from the fireplace where he had been leaning heavily, smoking a pipe. Nicole could see other paraphernalia on the table in front of them. Empty wine bottles, a shattered plate, all at least a day old.

“We are searching for Waverly Earp,” Nicole said. The man before her visibly blanched, his eyes drifting upwards.

“What room?” Nicole asked, roughly pulling the man in by his shirt. He smelled of old cigarettes and whisky. Their third companion looked between Wynonna and Nicole, and then stood abruptly, his wrinkled tuxedo showing signs of sweat stains at the armpits.

“We didn’t know!” He said, raising both hands.

“What do you mean?” Wynonna grabbed his first companion by the shoulder but shifted her gun’s aim.

“We thought it was all in jest!”

“Silence, William!” The first man said. Wynonna visibly tightened her grip on the shoulder of his waistcoat.

“No, William, speak now before I blow a hole through your pretty skull,” Wynonna said.

“To the left, fourth door! Please! We meant no harm!” William’s voice was high and loud and it was enough. Both Nicole and Wynonna dropped their weapons and stood back, Wynonna turning towards the door without saying another word.

“Leave,” Nicole said, eager to follow her companion.

“But, Miss…” William stepped forward, apparently about to explain himself, but Nicole had no time for it.

“Leave, now. Speak of this to no one.”

Wynonna was half-way up the grand staircase by the time Nicole caught her. They exchanged one dark look before taking the steps two at a time, turning left when they reached the top. Wood paneled walls covered in oil paintings decorated their path and light from gas-powered lamps quickly showed them the way.

The fourth door was closed and locked, but they would not be thwarted. Without a word, Nicole and Wynonna kicked at the wood, the force of their combined weight enough to crack the hinges and reveal the room inside.

Nicole heard Wynonna yell _stop!_ before she was fully able to process what she was seeing. The room itself was also wood panelled, deep red carpet stretched out to its corners and the fire place within roared. There were tapestries and marble busts and all the trappings of wealth one would expect from such a place, but Nicole’s eyes could not adjust to the opulence. Instead she stared in horror at the three people spread out in front of her.

Waverly lay on a couch, pale and still, a nightshirt pulled up just below her breasts. A blanket was draped across her thighs to her waist, leaving her stomach exposed in the low-light. Charles Hardy stood at the head of the couch, his hands resting on Waverly shoulders. And Robert Svane stood over her, scalpel in one hand, book in the other, about to…

“Step away from her!” Nicole yelled, her heart pounding. Waverly was so, so pale. One of her arms hung limply over the couch’s edge and it was hard to tell in the light, but her lips seemed blue.

“Miss Earp!” Charles yelped, stepping aside. Wynonna pushed past him, crouching by Waverly’s head.

Wynonna never let go of her revolver, pointing it at Hardy, but with her free hand she touched Waverly’s head and then her cheek.

“Little One?” She asked, her voice so tender that Nicole felt her eyes well with tears.

“I said step away from her!” Nicole repeated, pleased when Robert Svane jumped at the sound of her voice. He dropped both the scalpel and the book in his grasp, raising his hands just as Hardy did the same across the room.

Nicole circled closer to Svane, her pistol aimed square at his chest, but she took a second to look down and nearly gasped at the open book on the ground. It was an anatomy guide, the open page clearly showing a dissected abdomen.

“You?” She asked, horrified by the sight of Svane’s slim figure and his wire-rimmed glasses.

“Ma’am, I…” There was a hint of an accent in his voice that Nicole had not picked up before. Something eastern. German, maybe?

“I swear it was an accident!” Charles Hardy was in a panic, his face red and eyes wide.

“Or was it you?” Nicole heard herself ponder out loud. Hardy had access to Gibson’s. He had access to anywhere he wanted in London. His class protected him, his name guaranteed no harm would come to him. And with Robert Svane at his side…

“Me? I don’t…” Hardy took a step back, hand still in the air.

“Wynonna!”

John’s voice carried throughout the house and Nicole exhaled sharply. If John had arrived, so had Xavier, and they needed all hands.

“We’re here!” Wynonna cried out, briefly turning away from Waverly before returning to her sister. Wynonna’s hands found Waverly’s neck and her wrist, they fluttered to her stomach and her cheeks. Nicole was too frightened to ask if Waverly was alive at all.

The only sound in the room was the heavy breathing of four souls until the footsteps down the stairs turned into loud, quickly approaching thuds.

John burst into the room first, pistols drawn, the bowler hat on his head flying off in his haste. Xavier entered right behind him, a revolver held firmly in his hand. Both men took in the scene and Nicole watched as their eyes widened in recognition of what was happening on the bed.

“Waverly!” John cried, holstering his guns and joining Wynonna by the bedside. He quickly pressed two fingers to her neck, desperately trying to find a pulse.

“What have you given her?” He asked, grasping at her wrist.

“It was an accident! She was so bothered and then the boys wanted a dance so I thought a little wouldn’t hurt! And she was fine!” Charles had backed into a corner and Xavier held him steadily with the end of his revolver.

“A little?” Wynonna questioned aloud. John reached beyond Wynonna’s shoulder to the bed-side table and snatched an empty bottle.

“Laudanum,” he said, and Nicole felt herself shake.

“Yes, just a little!” John repeated.

“Help me turn her on her side,” John stood and Nicole immediately came to his aid, pocketing her gun and reaching for Waverly’s blanket covered legs. John held Waverly’s hips and Wynonna took her shoulders and together, they turned her. Without any warning, John thrust two fingers into Waverly’s mouth and for a horrible second nothing happened. Nicole squeezed the leg beneath her hands, willing Waverly to move and Wynonna brushed tussled hair from her sister’s forehead.

And then Waverly lurched, first her abdomen and then her chest. John pulled his hand away just as vomit drained from Waverly’s mouth, splashing onto the carpeted floor.

“Little One, that’s it, that’s it,” Wynonna cooed, keeping a steady hand on Waverly’s shoulder.

“Xavier, look at the digest on the floor. We caught them here with a knife about to do God knows what to her,” Nicole said, looking away from Waverly towards her friend.

It felt undignified to focus on Waverly’s face, voyeuristic. Somehow Nicole knew that Waverly would not want her to see this, despite Nicole’s relief to see Waverly moving at all.

“What?” Xavier turned his head quickly, eyeing Robert Svane.

“I thought she was dead! I swear!” Hardy remained in his corner, hands raised.

“And what? You planned to…to…” Nicole couldn’t bring herself to say the words. It was all too horrible. The thought of Waverly’s pale skin abused in such a way.

“We need to get her home,” John said and Wynonna nodded, her jaw shaking in fear or fury or both.

“Of course, you may take my carriage.” Hardy tried to step forward, but Xavier pushed him back with the tip of his gun.

“I don’t want anything from you,” Wynonna said, raising her own rifle.

“Please, Ms. Earp, a small misunderstanding, nothing more,” Hardy said, smiling that too wide smile of his.

“Small misunderstanding? Does your father know what you do while he is in the country?” Wynonna asked.

Nicole found herself unwilling to release Waverly’s leg, but reached for the blade at her hip, just in case Robert Svane decided to move. The pitiful sound of Waverly retching punctuated the conversation.

“I’d suggest you stop speaking now,” Hardy said, his voice suddenly hard.

“And I’d suggest you never set foot in my place again,” Wynonna answered.

“Oh, really? Is that so, Ms. Earp?” Hardy’s panicked blush quickly shifted into a much more sinister expression.

_“He keeps me clothed and Wynonna clothed. He keeps all of us off the street. He keeps John Henry in a job and the girls in their beds and the doors open at Gibson’s...”_

Nicole swallowed hard. She never wanted to see Charles Hardy again. She never wanted Charles Hardy to come near Waverly again. But she could see by Wynonna’s pinched look that nothing in life was so simple, nothing was so clean cut.

“We must leave. Now,” Wynonna said. Only Xavier kept Charles from moving, they could all see him attempt a step forward only to be pushed back.

“Very well. Svane?” Hardy said, looking over Xavier’s shoulder.

Robert Svane raised his head, eyeing Nicole’s blade with disinterest.

“Shall I call the carriage, sir?” Svane’s voice was thin and breathy and Nicole wondered why he seemed so fearless. She held a large knife at his chest and he looked past her as if she wasn’t there at all.

“Yes. That will do.”

“Xavier,” Wynonna said, “let him go.”

Nicole could hear the strain in her voice.

“But…”

“Do as I say, Xavier! Now! We must get her home,” Wynonna barked and Nicole suddenly realized that Wynonna was in charge. They were all going to listen to her, regardless of whether they agreed with her demands because it was Waverly’s life on the line.

_But Mama said that she was mine to mind…_

The room smelled of sour vomit and ash and Nicole wanted to leave. She wanted to bring Hardy and Svane in for questioning. She wanted Waverly to wake up.

She wanted to help.

“John, Wynonna, bring her downstairs. Xavier and I will take care of things here,” Nicole said, lowering her knife. Wynonna blinked at her, mouth opening as if to argue until she realized that Nicole was on her side. Instead Wynonna mouthed _thank you_ and turned back to her task, gathering blankets around her sister’s body.

“Wynonna, do be mindful of your cond…” John began speaking when Wynonna smacked him hard on the arm.

“Do as you are told, John Henry!”

John bit his lip and then nodded. He carefully slipped one arm behind Waverly’s leg, dislodging Nicole’s hand, and then used his other arm to support her shoulders. She looked so small as he raised her from the couch, the blankets and nightshirt hanging off her like a shroud.

“Svane, Hardy, you lead,” Nicole said. Charles smirked and made a mocking bow as he turned out the door and his manservant followed. Xavier held his gun to their backs following them down the stairs.

Nicole watched as John carried Waverly from the room, nodding once at Wynonna who supporting Waverly’s head with her hands.

The bed was stained with sweat and vomit and Nicole looked about, wondering if she’d ever forget the sight of Robert Svane looming over Waverly’s body. She picked up the anatomy book from the ground and before leaving, she pocketed the empty bottle of laudanum. It was all too much like a crime scene, like one of Waverly’s macabre sketches.

Nicole breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped away.

~*~

Waverly’s head was barely visible over John’s shoulder as he carried her outside.

Nicole stood in the foyer, quietly watching as Wynonna followed her sister from the Hardy Estate. The air felt solemn, as if all were suddenly aware of what had almost been lost.

“I shall see you soon, Ms. Earp!” Charles called from the sitting room, his voice clashing with the solemnity of the mood.

Wynonna scowled, pausing for only a moment in the doorway until John called for her from outside. Nicole exchanged another nod with Wynonna, a silent vow, and Wynonna left, tense and angry.

The sitting room was little changed from their arrival, save for the disappearance of William and his friends. The same broken glasses and empty bottles sat scattered on tabletops. The fire was low, but provided enough heat.

Robert Svane sat in the corner, his eyes cold as they glanced from Charles to Xavier to Nicole. He looked wolfish, alert, as if sizing up his prey. Hardy, on the other hand, was doing his best to get drunk, giggling into a glass of abandoned whisky.

“It would do you well not to leave London,” Nicole said, disgusted by the very sight of Hardy’s too-white teeth.

“On whose orders, _ma’am_?” Hardy asked. The whisky in his glass sloshed about as he raised his hands.

“You were caught in an attempt to disembowel a woman, Lord Hardy, I would say that staying in London should be obvious lest you wish your father to hear the news of your nocturnal activities.”

“Shut your mouth, woman, you will not say a word to my father. I do not care for your dramatics, nor would he. Tonight was a simple misunderstanding,” Hardy said, leaning back in his chair.

Xavier had been silent throughout the exchange, but perked up at the sound of Hardy’s confident boasting.

“Attempted murder in _not_ a misunderstanding, Lord Hardy,” Xavier said.

“She is fine. She is fine!” Hardy insisted.

“Mr. Svane, why did you have this book then,” Nicole asked, raising the anatomy guide.

Svane’s dark eyes were unsettling. He remained silent.

“I should bring you both in for questioning,” Nicole said.

“Ha! Try it, _Sir_.”

“I have no need to _try_,” Nicole began, “I can simply inform Chief Inspector Nedley that you were caught trying to mimic the Ripper’s _modus operandi _with a vulnerable woman. He would be interested to know that you spend nearly every night in the company of these women. That you know them. That you walk amongst them. That your manservant is aware of anatomical methods and owns surgical equipment. Yes, I think the Chief Inspector of the Metropolitan Police would be _very_ intrigued.”

Hardy blanched slightly.

“Furthermore,” Nicole said, “the papers would be delighted with the scandal. Can you imagine, Xavier? The imbecile son of Lord Hardy accused of whoring and murder? I am sure your inheritance would not be affected, sir, but one never knows.”

She had him. Hardy’s conceited boasting was quickly silenced and he sagged in his chair, glancing from Nicole to Robert Svane. For his part, Svane remained silent, watching, and Nicole decided that she’d likely accomplished all she could for the evening. She wanted to get back to Waverly – even if Waverly no longer wanted her company.

“Xavier, shall we call a cab?”

“Very well,” Xavier said, turning to leave.

“You will stay in London. And you will stay away from Gibson’s,” Nicole said. Hardy’s sneer returned.

“You would have them destitute? You would have Waverly on the street?”

“I would have them alive,” Nicole answered.

“She is mine. And I do not share my things,” Hardy said with all the petulance of a spoiled child.

“She nearly died in your custody, Lord Hardy, do her the curtesy of your absence.”

Hardy crossed his arms and frowned.

“Nicole!” Xavier called from outside. The cab had arrived.

“Waverly is not a thing, nor does she belong to you. Nor anyone,” Nicole said. She was pleased when Hardy did not answer.

It was only as she stepped out into the night that she heard his footsteps behind her. She did not turn to look at him, but his words stopped her just as she reached up for Xavier’s hand to mount the cab.

“I know what you are,” Hardy hissed from the shadows, “and soon I will know who you are too. And it will end you. You have my word. It will end you.”

~*~

“We should bring them in, Xavier, Svane especially.”

Nicole raised her voice slightly to be heard above the sound of the cab’s wheels and the horse. Xavier shrugged and said nothing in response.

“It is clear to me now. All of it. Hardy had an accomplice to do the dissections and…”

“Enough, Nicole,” Xavier said, raising one hand in annoyance.

“Xavier?”

“Enough. Please.”

Her friend was bothered, scratching at his beard as he adjusted himself in the cab. The sun was beginning to rise, though the only signal of its arrival was a sky turned from black to ash. Nicole shivered in the dawn cold, turning her face from the wind. As they drove east, the buildings loomed higher and higher, and the air smelled like sewage and the river and smoke.

“But…”

“Nicole, I am asking you to stop this. Just for tonight. I cannot hear any more.”

“Xavier, I…”

“Whether I agree with you or not, you have given away all element of surprise with your accusations! Hardy knows what you think of him and has the power to do God knows what!”

Nicole was shocked at the accusation.

“What else was I to do, Xavier? He was about to disembowel her,” Nicole said.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just…sometimes it is best to move in the shadows, Nicole, and you cannot help yourself from seeking the light.”

Xavier sounded tired, defeated, and Nicole tried desperately to put the pieces together. He had been bothered earlier in the day and then oddly quiet in the confrontation with Hardy. And then there was his frustration with Wynonna…

“Xavier are you alright?”

“I am well enough,” he replied.

“I have known you long enough to recognize when you tell a lie, my friend.” Nicole rested one comforting hand on Xavier’s arm. Her fingers were frozen from the wind, but she could tell that Xavier was warm beneath his wool coat.

“Wynonna is with child.”

His voice was so low that Nicole barely heard it above the sound of the horse’s hooves against the pavement. But she heard it.

“She is?”

“Yes.”

“And is it…”

“It is not mine,” Xavier said.

Nicole felt her eyes go wide, but bit her tongue. There was so much to be said, so many things she could say, but she sensed Xavier needed quiet.

She held his arm all the way to Gibson’s.

~*~

Nicole nearly collided with Gus as she hastily entered Gibson’s. The establishment had been securely locked upon arrival, but Xavier’s key had opened the door on chaos.

Gus was struggling with a pitcher of water when Nicole leapt through the door and Waverly’s aunt _harrumphed_ at the near collision.

“Oh, Gus! Here let me take this,” Nicole said, retrieving the object from Gus’s hands. Gus didn’t say another word before hurrying up the stairs. Nicole eagerly followed.

It was only as she reached the second-floor landing that the awkwardness set in. Mercy and Rosita stood in the entrance to Waverly’s room, both obviously watching whatever was happening beyond. Nicole could hear voices – Wynonna and John and Gus – but she couldn’t be sure what her role was to be.

Because the last time she had spoken to Waverly had been in anger. They had flung daggers at one another, their words sharp and wounding. Maybe this was not appropriate? Maybe it would be best to leave the water with Mercy and retreat to her attic bedroom.

Xavier seemed to be having the same internal crisis as he stood unmoving behind Nicole.

And then they heard the cries.

“Wynonna? Wynonna it hurts!”

Waverly’s voice was barely a rasp, but the fear was palpable. It broke Nicole’s heart.

“I know, I know, Little One, have some water, good…good…”

Nicole’s curiosity won and she quietly approached the doorway.

“We thought he’d got her,” Mercy said, turning to Nicole with watery eyes.

“Imagine that. Taking our Waverly.” Rosita looked concerned and angry. Nicole understood.

“It’s good that she’s awake,” Nicole said, “and that she’s tal…”

“Wynonna? Who is here? Is it him? Wynonna is he here?” Waverly’s hysteric questions shattered whatever assurances Nicole was trying to provide. She sheepishly looked into the room, catching Wynonna’s gaze and then raised the pitcher to show that she had it with her.

“Hush, Waverly, it’s Xavier and Nicole here to…”

“Nicole?” Waverly reached her hand to Wynonna and looked wildly about the room. Nicole swallowed hard and hesitantly stepped forward. She waited until Wynonna nodded her head, allowing Nicole into the room.

“Hello, Waverly?” Nicole said quietly, standing at the end of the bed.

Waverly’s hair was wet and she was wearing a new nightdress. Someone had washed her face, but her lips were chapped and Nicole could see that it was painful for her to breathe. John crouched next to her bed, holding her wrist in one hand and his pocket watch in the other.

“Nicole? Nicole, please…I…please…” Waverly reached out one hand and John stood, trading places with Nicole who set her pitcher of water down on the bedside table and then sunk down on one knee, resting her hands on the mattress.

“I am here, Miss Waverly. And I am most glad to see you awake.”

Waverly grabbed at Nicole’s hand, squeezing it hard. Her eyes were wild and she was obviously confused, but her determination to speak was evidence.

“I am sorry, Nicole, I am so sorry, please…”

Each breath was taxing for Waverly and her fingers were cold against Nicole’s palm. Nicole quickly looked at Wynonna who was sitting in the bed next to her sister and then to John who was watching the scene carefully.

“No, no, Waverly, please save your strength,” Nicole said, trying to calm the woman next to her.

“But…no, I must, I must…the drawer….”

“The delirium is to be expected,” John said. Nicole nodded, trying to keep her own fear from her face.

“You should rest, Waverly. You have been through an ordeal, but it is over now.” Nicole patted Waverly’s hand. Waverly’s eyes did not focus and she seemed to constantly look around the room, her head turning to Wynonna and then Gus and then John. But they always found Nicole again.

“Please, Nicole, the drawer…”

Nicole followed Waverly’s hazy glance to the bedside table and used her free hand to open the drawer. Inside, piled carefully in the corner away from bits and bobs of ribbon and candle wax, Nicole found four pennies. She felt her heart thud against her chest at the sight.

“Take them, Nicole, please…I am sorry…I am so sorry…Nicole…”

“We shall talk of all that we must when you are well,” Nicole said, turning her attention to Waverly.

“But…”

“Apologies shall be plenty and we will be as friends again.”

Waverly nodded once, her tired, aching body pulling her towards sleep.

“Take them,” she managed to whisper and Nicole nodded, looking into Waverly’s tortured hazel-green eyes. With her free hand, Nicole picked up the pennies and quickly placed them in her pocket, making sure that Waverly saw her do it.

“I should let you sleep now, Waverly,” Nicole said. Waverly’s grasp on her hand tightened.

“No! No you cannot go! He might come back. Wynonna, is he here?” Waverly thrashed in the bed, moaning in discomfort.

“He is not, Little One, rest your eyes now,” Wynonna said, tangling her fingers in Waverly’s hair.

“Nicole must stay,” Waverly whispered, her eyes closing.

“She will only be a floor above,” Wynonna cooed, but Waverly shook her head.

“No, she must stay here. With you. Both of you.”

“And why is that?” Wynonna was obviously trying to hide a smirk but failing. The severity of the situation was slowly giving way to the relief of Waverly’s return.

“Guns,” Waverly yawned.

“Guns?” Nicole inquired, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

“Nicole is good at fisticuffs. And she smells so lovely. She must stay.”

Nicole blushed and Wynonna shook her head, exasperated, but clearly Waverly was unwilling to compromise.

“May I go to my room for a moment, Waverly? Let me freshen up and then I will return?” Nicole waited for a response. Waverly was increasingly sleepy.

“I suppose,” came the answer. Nicole nodded, patting Waverly’s hand one more time before standing up and offering Wynonna a smile.

It was already mid-morning, but no one had slept and they were all exhausted.

Xavier excused himself in the doorway and Mercy and Rosita followed. Gus gathered some soiled laundry and left too, leaving only John with Wynonna and Nicole and their sleeping charge.

“I will be back to check on her every hour. Be sure she keeps drinking water. That’s the most important thing now,” John said.

Nicole ignored the awkward tension between John and Wynonna as she stood from the bedside and finally freed her hand from Waverly’s grasp.

“I won’t be a minute,” she said.

Wynonna shook her head and sighed.

“You’d best be fast. If she wakes and you’re not here, there will be hell to pay.”

~*~

Nicole didn’t notice the letter at first.

She tossed her jacket on the floor and quickly undid her hair, running her fingers through the long strands in an attempt to detangle her braid. Looking in the mirror, Nicole winced at her reflection. She was obviously tired, but it had been nearly a full day since she’d washed her face or had a proper meal.

The basin of water on the desk was frigid, but she had no choice as she splashed her face and then found a towel to scrub the back of her neck. Her back ached and she wished she could kick off her boots and crawl into bed, but Waverly needed her and she could not deny Waverly anything. She had no idea if Waverly’s apologies were just the thoughtless rantings of drug-induced delirium, but Nicole felt hope again. Maybe they could be friends? A life without Waverly Earp would be unbearable.

The shirt Gus had given her was slightly too big and Nicole rolled up the sleeves and then laughed. She was exhausted and the adrenaline of the night was fading, but the sight of herself in the mirror made her look like one of the pirate queens of old. Nicole pressed her fingertips to her eyelids and pressed lightly.

She was about to grab her pillow and go back to Waverly when she saw the letter on her bedspread. It was a folded piece of paper, her name was written in neat, cursive, but Nicole looked at it suspiciously before picking it up. It was not Waverly’s hand-writing, but it was not in Jack the Ripper’s bloody scribe either.

Nicole unfolded the note and began to read.

_Dear Inspector,_

_I never stay where I am not wanted and it has become clear that Gibson’s is no longer a home for me. As you read this, I am on a train east to rejoin my family. I tire of my husband’s infidelity. It will be good to go home where I am needed and desired. _

_You seek danger, Nicole, whether you know it or not. Every choice you make leads to darkness or light. I fear more darkness is ahead. _

_Do not trust what you see. Do not trust at all. _

_I am moved by your bravery and by your truth. I wish you a long life. A full life. But beware of those that would blind you to the path you must take. _

_With respect,_

_Kate_

Nicole set the letter down and sighed heavily. Waverly was waiting for her. Nothing else mattered. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments fuel me. They feed me. They sustain me. I'd love to know your thoughts!!


	8. From Hell

October 16, 1888

“What do you think it is?”

Xavier, Abberline, and Nedley stood around the office desk, each bowed over the table examining the object in question. Abberline had spoken, but it was a question echoed in the faces of everyone present.

Beside them, George Lusk watched with interest, but shrugged when Abberline voiced his query.

“Says it’s half a kidney,” he said.

Nedley grunted in reply.

George Lusk had a friendly face and kind eyes. Nicole found herself feeling warmly towards him. His Vigilance Committee had done little to help the case, but their widespread use of posters and offers of a reward were appreciated.

Still, his presence in the office was unsettling given the unusual package he bore.

The men around the desk were staring down at a small, brownish lump that could have easily been mistaken for chicken liver. Except it wasn’t liver. And it wasn’t from a chicken. When Lusk walked in bearing a soiled envelop, Xavier had been quick to call in Abberline and Nedley because unlike the rest of the letters sitting sorted in various corners of the room, Lusk’s was different.

Nicole held the letter from the envelop in her hand while Xavier prodded the odd object with a pair of tweezers.

“Shall I read it again?” She asked. Abberline nodded and Nicole cleared her throat.

_From hell_

_Mr Lusk_

_Sor_

_I send you half the Kidne I took from one women prasarved it for you tother pirce I fried and ate it was very nise I may send you the bloody knif that took it out if you only wate a whil longer._

_signed Catch me when you Can_

_Mishter Lusk_

“And you say this arrived last night?” Xavier asked.

“Two nights ago. Thought it was a joke, but the boys had me take it Dr. Frederik Wiles,” Lusk explained. He seemed remarkably calm for a man who not days before had requested police protection for his home.

“And this Dr. Wiles?” Abberline looked up to question Lusk directly.

“He was out, but I eventually had it looked at by Dr. Openshaw of London Hospital. Confirmed it was, indeed, human.”

Nicole looked at the letter carefully, frowning at the numerous spelling errors. George Lusk was a common name in the newspapers. He was attached to the case and advertised his committee’s rewards nearly daily. Anyone could have sent the letter, though the human kidney was troubling.

“Well, I suppose we must take it all to the London Police. Eddowes was on their watch,” Abberline said with a sigh. Lusk shrugged, but still remain unbothered. Nicole understood because she was nearly certain that the letter was not from Jack the Ripper.

It was crude, the hand-writing sloppy. Perhaps the Ripper had orchestrated a fake, but Nicole was starting to understand the man. She was starting to sense his habits. Toying with George Lusk felt too amateur. She had spent days sorting through supposed Ripper letters and each one gave itself away.

As for the kidney, it was far too easy to acquire such things, especially for an anatomist or a medical student. Nicole frowned and looked at her large slate board, worried that the letter and its contents would be a distraction. They did not have time for such things.

“I’d like to speak to the coroner, if I may, Sir,” Xavier said and Abberline nodded, clapping one hand on Xavier’s shoulder.

“Let us go, men! Oh, and of course, Miss Haught!” Abberline smiled at her good-naturedly and she handed him the letter, pleased to have it out of her hands. It was stained with blood and yellowed.

George Lusk bowed lightly to Nicole and then strode out of the office, cane in hand. Abberline followed and then Xavier, who paused in the door.

“Count me out this time,” Nicole said and Xavier raised one eyebrow, but did not respond.

Alone with Nedley, Nicole had time to square her shoulders and take a deep centering breath. The Chief Inspector was busy lighting his pipe and made no move to follow his colleagues.

“Chief Inspector?” Nicole said, trying to keep her voice from shaking with nerves.

Nedley looked up, removing the pipe from his mouth.

“Hmm?”

“It’s just…I would like to speak with you about something. In confidence.”

“Good Lord, you’ve not been poorly handled by one of the men have you?” Nedley circled around the desk, his eyes wide with alarm.

“What? No! No, sir. No. It’s about the case.”

“Ah. Very well. What is it you would like me to know?”

He looked at her expectantly and Nicole realized that she had his full attention. He didn’t ask her to wait for Xavier’s return. He didn’t tell her to mind her place. Instead, her perched on the edge of the desk, puffing smoke into the air, and stared back at her. The man was listening _to her_. Nicole’s anxiety was quickly replaced with excitement.

“Sir, I have reason to believe that Jack the Ripper may be an associate of Charles Hardy. Or he may be Charles Hardy himself.”

“Hardy? Of the Wessex Hardy’s?”

“His son, Sir. Charles Hardy III.”

Nedley crossed his arms and scowled, but nodded at her. Nicole continued.

“He is a frequent guest of Gibson’s, a music hall and…”

“Oh, I know of Gibson’s and it is no musical hall.”

Nicole blushed, but pushed on.

“Yes, Sir, but Hardy knows many of the women. And his footman, a Robert Svane, he…is quite suspicious.”

“How so?”

Nicole bit her tongue and tried to think quickly. She did not want to implicated Waverly or Wynonna in the discussion, nor did she want to disclose Waverly’s near overdose.

“Svane was caught with an anatomy book, Sir, and he was…well under Hardy’s instructions…preparing to…”

“Miss Haught, you are trying my patience,” Nedley said.

“Sorry, Sir, it is a delicate situation. But Hardy and Svane may be working together. Svane has knowledge of anatomy, he is in possession of surgical knives, and Hardy spends more time in Whitehcapel than Mayfair. They are both dangerous, extremely so.”

Nedley stared at Nicole for a time and then stood up. He retrieved his pipe and his hat and paused before her, a strange expression on his face.

“Do you realize that you are the first person to bring a plausible suspect to my attention?”

“I am?” Nicole knew she was taking a risk speaking to Nedley alone, but she was also surprised by his ongoing support.

“Indeed. We are in tricky territory here with Hardy, but I do believe you are on to something. Let me ponder the best course of action, but good show, Miss Haught. Good show, indeed.”

“Will you arrest them then?” Nicole felt her heart beat faster.

“Not yet. We need more than just your word. Does he suspect that _you_ suspect?”

Nicole lowered her head.

“Yes, Sir. I…may have said something?”

“Hrrrmph.”

“I am sorry, Sir, but it was necessary in the moment!”

“Very well. Head down, Miss Haught. The element of surprise is gone, but we may be able to grasp it once more. Stay in the shadows.”

Nicole couldn’t help the smile that stretched across her features. Randolph Nedley was a surprising figure.

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir!”

As Nedley stood in the doorway, he looked at Nicole’s face and then shook his head, chuckling to himself.

“If only you were a man, Miss Haught, you’d have my job in no time!”

Nicole’s smile faded as she watched Nedley leave. He unknowingly dangled her dream before her face and snatched it back with little thought.

Another small wound. Another invisible dagger.

~*~

The sun set early in London’s autumn and Nicole decided she did not want to miss the last of the light.

Setting out in her oversized coat, Nicole found herself wandering Whitechapel Road, smiling softly at the hustle and bustle of life before her. It was only four in the afternoon, much earlier than her usual departure, but her conversation with Nedley weighed heavily and Xavier had never returned from the coroner.

She had memorized the slate in her office and hoped that some fresh air would clear her thoughts. If Nedley believed her, if she was right, the killing would end. She did not want to leap ahead of herself, but the flicker of hope ignited in her chest. The end of the killing would mean countless lives saved, including Mercy’s and Rosita’s and Waverly’s.

_Waverly_

Nicole looked up and breathed in deeply. The air smelled like onions and bodies and the stink of the river. But there was also fresh bread and meat pies and vanilla from an ice cream vendor down the way.

Whitechapel was the world. Nicole allowed herself to disappear within it.

She gazed at scraps of material and spoiled fruit and the children running in and out of market stalls. An elderly man sat with his back to a wall, a box in front of him, and Nicole paused to look at its contents, delighted when she found books and pamphlets.

“Look, look,” he said, his voice soft and accented. Nicole liked his beard and the funny curls that seemed to drop from his hat. One title stood out and she picked it up, reaching into her pocket for coins. The man thanked her and Nicole placed her new purchase in her coat pocket and smiled at the kind man and his dark eyes.

The streets teamed with cabs and wagons and for once, Nicole didn’t eye every man with suspicion. She could blend in here, no one stopped her to sneer or poke fun. She followed the path back to Gibson’s slowly, feeling herself revived.

She stopped only once more when a small child tugged at her coat, lifting a bouquet of roses.

“Roses, roses?” The little girl said, her face dirty but bright.

“Well, I’d better! Those are the most beautiful roses in London!” Nicole exclaimed. The child laughed and laughed again when Nicole handed her double the cost of a single rose.

As she approached Gibson’s, Nicole took a moment to bask in the fading light. Since her arrival, London had been a place of darkness and horrors. Despite the setting sun, the day had given her reason to believe that good was around the corner.

~*~

Nicole stood awkwardly on the second-floor landing, a rose in one hand and her newly purchased book in the other. In the days following Waverly’s rescue, a comfortable peace had settled between Nicole and Waverly, but it was all very formal.

Once a day, usually before the evening meal, Nicole would pop her head into Waverly’s room and offer a greeting. Waverly would smile back and that would be the end of it. But with the memory of sunshine on her mind and confidence from Nedley’s affirmations, Nicole decided it was time to say more than _hello_.

Waverly was alone in her room, settled in a chair by a low fire. Her hair was loose and down and Nicole found her whole appearance charming. She wore an over-sized robe and a tartan blanket covered her knees. If not for her youthful face, Waverly could have been someone’s nan. It was good to see her out of bed. The dark circles beneath her eyes were starting to fade.

“Hello, Waverly!” Nicole said, standing in the doorway of Waverly’s room. Waverly startled a little, the teacup in her hands shaking as she jumped, but her face quickly changed from one of surprise to one of delight.

“Oh, Nicole, hello!”

Something made Nicole shut the door behind her. On any other day, she would have left it open, but she wanted some time with just Waverly.

“I’ve brought you this.” Nicole extended her arm, handing Waverly the rose. Waverly gladly accepted, bringing the flower to her nose. Nicole knew that Waverly had been sensitive to scent since her ordeal. The sweat and vomit had been constant and now Waverly only wanted pretty things. She sniffed the rose like it was an intoxicating perfume.

“How lovely, thank you,” Waverly said, setting her gift aside on the small table to her left.

“And I saw this and thought you might enjoy it. Perhaps you have it already…” Nicole dropped the book into Waverly’s hands.

“_The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_,” Waverly read, her smile widening with each word.

“Do you like it?” Nicole lowered herself into the chair next to Waverly. She had not been invited, but she so wanted to stay.

“I adore it! I’ve heard nothing but the most _ghastly_ things about it!” Waverly stared at the mottled leather cover, her fingers tracing the gold lettering of the title.

“Waverly, would it be possible to speak candidly? Together?”

Waverly set down her new gift and turned to Nicole, eyes wide and expectant.

“Yes, I would like that.”

Nicole shrugged out of her coat and returned Waverly’s hopeful expression.

“It is queer to see you in that shirt,” Waverly laughed, pointing and Nicole looked down, wincing as she realized that once more, she was wearing one of Waverly’s uncle’s shirts.

“I am sorry if it offends, I can go change?”

Waverly shook her head profusely.

“No, you just fill it out quite differently than poor Uncle Curtis. That is not a bad thing, Nicole,” Waverly said. It made Nicole blush.

But the blush brought with it confusion because there was so much that needed to be said.

“Waverly, I am not sure how to begin,” Nicole confessed.

“May I speak first then? I am afraid my thoughts will flee if I don’t release them at once!”

Nicole nodded eagerly, turning to Waverly with rapt attention. She was surprised to find Waverly demure, head tipped down and hands firmly clasped in her lap.

“I said some very unkind words to you, Nicole. And I am dreadfully sorry for them. You had told me much in confidence and I betrayed that trust. I do hope you will accept my apology?”

Waverly looked up, offering Nicole a bashful smile. It was all so formal. Nicole wasn’t sure what to make of it. But she wanted to speak as well.

“Thank you, Waverly. I too spoke out of anger. I…I did not understand, as you said, and I can be quite stubborn. I am sorry too. Most assuredly so.”

They stared at one another and Nicole could not help but feel that the words were insufficient. Terrible things had been said. And done. They had been so hateful towards one another and even though Waverly’s brush with death had frightened them both towards reconciliation, Nicole felt uneasy.

She sensed the same unease in Waverly who stared into the fire, her lips thin. Nicole remained seated, wondering if there was more to say, wondering if the intimacy they’d shared before was gone forever.

“You were right about me,” Waverly said suddenly, one hand darting forward to grab Nicole’s wrist. Waverly’s fingers were cold.

“What do you mean?” Nicole could feel herself freeze in place. If she moved, Waverly may stop speaking and something told her that whatever Waverly was about to say would be important.

“I…I _was_ jealous that night. Of Mercy and Rosita.”

Nicole swallowed hard and looked up quickly. Waverly was blushing, her eyes cast away from Nicole.

“What do you mean?”

“When I saw you with them…I was furious. And it scared me. That feeling…”

“Because it’s wrong?” Nicole understood. She hoped she could provide support for Waverly.

“Wrong? No! Nicole I have never been allowed to want anything in my life. I have never known what it is to choose for myself and then you walked in and…”

Nicole so wished that Waverly would look at her. She hardly understood a word, but Waverly’s grip on her tightened and Nicole used her free hand to cover Waverly’s cold fingers.

“You see yourself as a creature alone, but you are not alone, Nicole. Because if you are a creature than so am I,” Waverly said so quickly that Nicole startled.

“Waverly what are you saying?”

“I have no talent for words and I am muddling all of this!”

“No, no,” Nicole said, ducking her head until Waverly finally met her gaze.

“Nicole…”

“Are you saying that you feel for me…I mean, are you…I…”

“Nicole,” Waverly said again, “you frighten me and you enthrall me and I have thought of nothing but you since the day of your arrival.”

If Waverly had stood up and punched Nicole in the jaw, it would have caused less shock. Nicole heard the words, she held them in her mind, looked at them and tried to make them fit, but it was as if Waverly had spoken in tongues.

“Waverly, I am not sure I take your meaning correctly?”

“Oh, you daft fool! Nicole, I find myself falling in love with you!”

Nicole blinked again, stunned to find herself staring into Waverly’s blushing, frustrated face.

“You’re falling in love with me?”

“Yes!”

“With me?”

Waverly let go of Nicole’s wrist and reached forward, her palm landing softly on Nicole’s cheek.

“Nicole, sweetheart, if you do not stop asking questions I will be forced to take drastic measures against you.”

Waverly Earp was falling in love. With her. Waverly Earp was a woman. And Nicole was a woman. And Waverly Earp had just said that…she’d just said…

“Waverly, please, do not jest. Please, I could not bear it,” Nicole said, reaching for Waverly’s hand where it held her face.

“I am sorry that I hurt you, I am sorry that our first exchange of love was so violent, I am sorry for so many things, but I would never lie about this, Nicole. Not about how I feel about you.”

Waverly was telling the truth. Nicole knew it, but dared not let herself feel it.

“You were right about me too, Waverly,” she said, closing her eyes and leaning in to Waverly’s touch.

“Tell me, my love,” Waverly’s voice was so soft and so kind.

“I have wanted you from the moment I saw you. I could not allow myself such fantasies, but I have wanted you.”

“And do you still want me?”

Nicole opened her eyes, determined. Her heart was pounding in her chest, but she would not let this moment pass. She moved from her chair to kneel before Waverly, the wooden floor hard on her knees.

“With all that I am, Waverly. I am falling in love with you too.”

Waverly took Nicole’s hands in both of hers.

“You are beautiful, Nicole Haught.”

“And you are an angel, Waverly Earp. I have nothing to offer you. I have no wealth or land. I only have my heart.”

“That is all the treasure in the world, Nicole. I am a jealous fool, quick to anger and cruel…”

Nicole shook her head.

“I wish that you could see yourself as I see you,” she said.

“May I show you how I see you?”

Nicole let Wavery move first. Waverly leaned forward in her chair, bending just enough so Nicole could push herself up on her knees to meet her.

When their lips touched, Nicole feared for only a second that Waverly would pull away in fright, but she did not. Instead, she parted her mouth and Nicole inhaled sharply, breathing in Waverly and her softness and warmth. The kiss was soft, chaste, until Waverly’s tongue gently flicked Nicole’s top lip.

Her father’s voice screamed that this was wrong, that she was hell-bound. Her mother’s voice screamed that Nicole had doomed them all.

But as Nicole’s lips slid against Waverly’s, as Nicole tasted Waverly, as their faces brushed and noses bumped, as they breathed air into each other’s lungs, Nicole knew that her parents had lied. They had lied.

Because this was as close to God as she’d ever come. Waverly’s hands and her face and her mouth offered salvation. Nicole saw heaven behind her eyelids.

When Waverly pulled away, she slid her hands into Nicole’s hair, cupping the back of her head and neck.

“Nicole, I am so sorry, for what I did, for how I treated you, for…”

Nicole pressed her forehead to Waverly’s, breathless and overwhelmed.

“We will make amends, love, we will make amends over and over again,” she said, kissing Waverly once more, moving so quickly that Waverly’s surprised moan had no chance to move beyond her own lips.

“I want only you,” Waverly breathed and Nicole nodded, sighing when Waverly peppered her cheeks with kisses.

“And I you, I would do anything for you, Waverly, anything…”

Waverly moved to Nicole’s lips again, biting gently this time, and Nicole felt her knees bruise against the hard floor but did not care.

“I will tell Wynonna, I am done with all the rest, I am yours,” Waverly said.

Nicole rested her hands against Waverly’s shoulders and sat back, just enough so she could see Waverly’s face.

“But what will we do, Waverly? We are two women and…”

“Here we are safe,” Waverly said, her hands sliding to cup Nicole’s cheeks.

“I want us always to be safe. I want _us_.”

“As do I.”

“I will protect you. I will take care of you,” Nicole grasped Waverly’s hands, lowering them so she could kiss each knuckle.

“Wynonna will help us, darling. I don’t care that we are two women, I don’t care what God himself thinks of it, all I care about is knowing you are mine.”

“I am,” Nicole promised, “I swear it, Waverly.”

“And I am yours.”

“And the rest?” Nicole had already leaned in again, brushing her lips against Waverly’s.

“The rest is of no consequence.”

The words barely made it out of Waverly’s mouth before Nicole’s lips silenced her again.

~*~

Nicole was aware that she was being unprofessional to say the least.

There were five dead women crying out for justice, there was a monster on the loose, but Nicole felt herself in dream-like bliss.

Each morning she woke up eager to see Waverly. And each evening she’d practically run home from the police station to see Waverly again. Her days were spent sorting mail and waiting for Nedley’s response to her suspicions, but her mind was occupied with Waverly.

Each day Waverly grew stronger, each day she seemed more herself. Nicole adored seeing this change each morning, though Waverly’s infirmness provided some opportunity for Nicole to dote on her in ways that Waverly usually wouldn’t allow. Nicole carried tea and cookies with her up the stairs on every trip. She spent her loose change on flowers and books and pies. But more than anything, the touch of Waverly’s hand in her own and the stolen kisses let her believe that maybe, just maybe, this was all real. It could all be hers.

Her guilt was immense each day when she walked into the office and found herself face to face with sketches of the dead.

Then there was the matter of her best friend who was increasingly withdrawn and quiet. Xavier barely spoke to her during the day, choosing to spend his time with Abberline or reviewing the crime scenes. Kate’s departure had left John Henry furious, and he’d taken up with Rosita, which made Wynonna volatile. The inter-personal relationships of Gibson’s were a mess and Nicole knew she should step in and speak to Xavier.

But Waverly was so beautiful and she brought such light to the world. In her presence, Nicole forgot the darkness, she forgot the shadows. In Waverly’s presence, Nicole allowed herself to dream of plans. Impossible plans. Yet they formed without Nicole’s awareness. She’d hold Waverly and see their future. She’d kiss Waverly and see a home and safety and a life.

She was dancing around flames and she knew it. But she could not stop herself. She did not want to.

~*~

October 25th, 1888

Nicole stared at Xavier and Xavier stared at the slate pretending not to notice Nicole’s attentions. He stroked his beard and occasionally mumbled “hmmm” as he paced in front of the board, but otherwise, Nicole heard nothing from him.

“Xavier?” She tried, seated behind the desk.

He paused and turned, raising one eyebrow.

“Are we going to discuss…the situation?”

“The situation?”

“Wynonna. The child…”

Xavier immediately turned back to the slate.

“This is our place of work, Nicole. Please, act like it.”

The remark was bruising though Xavier did not know how harshly he’d pressed a nerve. Nicole winced and bit her lip, unsure if she should share her news about Waverly. Her eyes drifted to the sketches pinned to the board, sketches made by Waverly’s hand.

They were gruesome and horrible and the work of a talented, gifted woman. So much of her life consisted of odd juxtapositions and Nicole was growing strained with the effort to hold them all together. She sat amidst piles of documents. There were anatomical graphs before her depicting bodies ripped in two. But her mind drifted always to Waverly…

A knock on the door stopped Nicole from replying.

“Miss Haught?”

Randoph Nedley popped his head into the office, the ever-present pipe momentarily obscuring his face.

“Yes, sir?” Nicole stood abruptly, feeling foolish as she did.

“I’ve given some thought to your proposal. Go ahead, I say. Find what you can. But it’s on you, no manpower, no resources.”

Nedley disappeared again before Nicole could respond and she was left awkwardly standing at the desk while Xavier eyed her curiously.

“What was he talking about?” Xavier asked.

“I spoke to him about Hardy and Svane,” Nicole said. Xavier rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Damn it, Nicole, why would you do that?”

“You know why! You know I’m correct in this, Xavier!”

“Must you always run headfirst into danger? Why can’t you trust the system for once in your life?”

“System? There is no system for us. You know it as well as I. Don’t you see how they look at us when we step out of this room? Coppers cannot be trusted, Abberline is drowning in the investigation, and we have a lead,” Nicole said, raising her voice.

Xavier shook his head again, unconvinced.

“I’m going to continue looking into Hardy and Svane with or without your help.”

“Nicole…”

“Enough. It is late and I need to speak with Mercy tonight. Are you coming?”

Nicole gathered her coat and pulled her cap onto her head. She busied herself with her possessions while Xavier remained silent. The bowie knife she’d taken weeks before now felt like it had always sat on her hip. She liked its weight and its presence much more than the small gun Wynonna had offered her.

“Perhaps I should stay here,” Xavier said.

“And perhaps you should come home. There’s no use in hiding.”

Nicole offered her arm to Xavier and he sighed heavily before taking it. They both kept their heads down and avoided eye contact with the deputies outside in the waiting room.

~*~

Xavier’s presence kept Nicole from sprinting to Gibson’s.

The street was bustling with carriages and people and it was all moving too slowly for Nicole’s liking. She would have skipped up the steps if not for Wynonna who stood in the doorway, brandishing her gun, and staring out at the sidewalk.

“Wynonna? What is it?” Nicole paused at the foot of the stairs, Xavier beside her.

“Waverly is back in the hall serving beer tonight. Just keeping a look out for any unwanted guests,” Wynonna said, her eyes never leaving the road. Nicole was both delighted to hear that Waverly was up on her feet and frightened by the prospect of Charles Hardy trying to make an appearance.

“Here, let me.” Xavier approached Wynonna and opened his hand. She did not pass him her gun.

“You’ll have to get your own, Dolls,” Wynonna said and Nicole winced at the icy chill between the two.

“Very well.”

Xavier pushed past his former lover and Nicole found herself at a loss. She was unsure if she should follow him up the stairs and offer support or if she should try to speak with Wynonna. What she really wanted was to see Waverly. And she had to talk to Mercy too. Wynonna made the decision for her.

“Come on, Ginger, you look cold.”

Nicole shrugged and stepped into Gibson’s next to its proprietor. The building was warm and the tinkling of piano keys made the small hallway all the more inviting.

“Are you well, Wynonna?” Nicole asked, pausing before they entered the main dance hall.

“Why do you ask?” Wynonna shot Nicole that challenging glare she seemed always to use when feeling threatened. Nicole forced herself to refrain from rolling her eyes.

“I…forgive if me if I speak out of turn, but I know about your condition and wa…”

“Waverly tell you that?” Wynonna’s cheeks flushed. Nicole quickly shook her head.

“No! No, she…”

“Because you have filled my sister’s head with nonsense and notions, Nicole Haught.”

Wynonna’s words loudly echoed in the small space and Nicole felt herself stand taller.

“It is not nonsense, Wynonna. I would do anything for your sister, anything. And I offer my assistance to you, as well.”

“How gentlemanly of you,” Wynonna spat.

“Wynonna, please, be sensible.”

Nicole pushed through the increasingly crowded space, trying to stay by Wynonna’s side as two men walked in from the street and entered the dancehall.

“Sensible? While you’re busy playing the knight in shining armour?”

“I will not ask for your permission. Waverly is her own person and I make no claim that she does not wish me to. But your blessing would mean a great deal to us both, Wynonna,” Nicole said.

Wynonna turned her head quickly, eyes flashing in annoyance. Nicole braced for whatever sharp remark was to come, but Waverly stepped into the hallway first, her grin silencing Wynonna before she could speak.

“Fools the both of you!” Wynonna tossed both hands in the air and then pushed past her sister, disappearing into the smoke and laughter of Gibson’s.

“What was that about?” Waverly asked the smile never fading. Nicole felt her own lips lift in delight and she couldn’t help but reach out and gently grasp Waverly’s waist.

“I was trying to arrange our courtship, if you must know,” Nicole said, biting her lip when Waverly blushed. She was suddenly pulled into the corner against the staircase, her back to the foot traffic, and between Nicole’s oversize coat and her height, she hid Waverly from the view of others. They were standing so closely, Nicole’s hands holding Waverly’s hips as Waverly grasped the front of Nicole’s shirt, pulling her into a kiss.

“I missed you,” Waverly whispered against Nicole’s mouth, playfully darting her tongue against Nicole’s top lip.

“You torture me.” Nicole tried to stifle a happy sigh at the feel of Waverly pushed so closely against her body. She kissed Waverly again, her hands rising just slightly. It was a delicate dance. She so wanted to be proper, to treat Waverly as a proper lady, but Waverly was also making it increasingly difficult for Nicole to behave.

A hard slap on her back startled her, but she did not move, not even when a gruff voice declared, “that’a boy!” in her direction. She hunched her shoulders and laughed, as did Waverly, and soon they were both giggling in their hidden corner, Nicole’s coat acting as a shield.

Waverly playfully pulled Nicole’s hat down over her eyes.

“Your sister tells me you are working tonight,” Nicole said, bumping her forehead against Waverly’s.

Two hands found their way to the back of Nicole’s head.

“I am. Will you be upstairs all night?”

“No, I must speak to Mercy. And check that Xavier is protecting the door…” Nicole whispered, her whole body shaking when Waverly dipper down to kiss her neck. It took all of her will not to press further into Waverly, not to let her body take what it wanted. She had never known these feelings before, she had never imagined them. The merest hint of Waverly’s lips against the skin of her throat was enough to bring her to her knees.

“So I shall see you inside?”

Nicole moved her hands from Waverly’s hips and carefully placed then higher, on her ribs. She was aware of how easy it would be to touch more of Waverly, how quickly she could shift her thumbs and…

“My love, perhaps you wish to go elsewhere?” Waverly’s voice was low.

“Hmmm?”

It was all moving so quickly. They had known each other for weeks, longer than some courtships lasted. But Nicole had not expected the desire to flare so strongly. She wanted desperately to do right by Waverly, to give her all that she wanted, to protect and love her. She wanted to show her respect for Waverly, for Waverly to know that she was not like the others who took and bought and left with their coin. But the want. The _want_.

“I am consumed by the thought of you,” Waverly said, standing on her toes to whisper in Nicole’s ear. Nicole released her grip and instead pulled Waverly to her, holding her about the waist and shifting on her feet.

“And I you, sweetheart. But you deserve a proper courtship.”

“Do I?” Nicole could feel Waverly smile where their cheeks pressed together.

“Yes. More than anyone. Which is why we should both go inside.”

“And do I get any say in what constitutes a _proper _courtship?”

Before Nicole could answer, Waverly slipped out of her arms and took her hand. They walked into the dancehall together, Nicole feeling marvellously drunk though not a drop of alcohol had passed her lips.

~*~

Waverly moved through the crowd with an ease that spoke of years of experience. The only difference was that this time, Nicole was allowed to openly watch her. She appreciated Waverly’s grace, her easy smile, how she stepped out of the unwanted reach of handsy patrons.

Gibson’s was lively, though Kate’s absence was felt. Nicole occasionally glanced at the empty corner table, frowning each time she recalled that Kate was gone. If John Henry was upset about his wife’s departure, he made little effort to show it. Instead, he was busy behind the bar, head down, preparing what appeared to be meat pies.

Nicole forked the pie before her, feeling like a lovesick school girl. She was also trying to keep her eye open for Mercy who was noticeably absent. Rosita stood on stage, plumes of coloured smoke surrounding her, but Mercy was away for the evening.

“Come now, Waverly, give us a song!”

Nicole glanced up, trying to find the voice in the crowd, and frowned when she saw a man at a table circle his hand around Waverly’s arm. Waverly smiled though and stepped away from his touch, adjusting her shawl while demurely shaking her head.

“Not tonight, gents. I’ve had a touch of fever! Mustn’t overtax myself!”

Her response was met with disappointed moans, but they let Waverly go. Between the men in the room and the constant threat of Charles Hardy looming, Nicole felt herself on edge.

Rosita finished her act and the curtain closed, leaving only the sound of men drinking and the clattering of plates. It was queer and Nicole felt that something was off in the air. She looked for Wynonna, but couldn’t see her either.

The crowd seemed not to mind the lack of entertainment and continued their evening, but Nicole could not shake her unease. When Waverly approached seconds later, she gladly welcomed her, and yelped as Waverly slipped onto her lap.

“Waverly!” Nicole exclaimed, looking around hastily in case anyone saw.

“Hush, darling, you know as well as I that anything goes in the dance hall.”

It was true and Nicole exhaled, quickly adjusting herself to make Waverly more comfortable. Waverly slipped one arm around Nicole’s shoulders and Nicole circled Waverly’s waist, pleased when Waverly’s shawl dropped revealing a bare shoulder.

“You are a pretty thing, Miss Waverly,” Nicole said, kissing Waverly’s arm.

“I do like when you say that.” Waverly sighed and tilted her head down, resting her cheek against the top of Nicole’s head.

“Have you seen Mercy? Or your sister for that matter?” Nicole was so comfortable with Waverly in her arms, but she also was highly aware that there was still work to do. She could not lose herself in the scent of Waverly’s lavender soap or the feel of her soft skin. Not yet.

“I’ve not. Is everything alright?”

“Mercy may have some answers I need. But I’m sure…”

A breathless Wynonna appeared beside the table, panting and wild-eyed. Nicole hadn’t even seen her approach and she seemed like a specter.

“Nicole. We need to leave. Now.” Wynonna’s spoke in a hiss.

“Wynonna? Whatever is the matter,” Waverly asked, turning in Nicole’s arms.

“Mercy is missing. We must go find her,” Wynonna said.

“Missing?” Waverly hopped up, taking her sister by the shoulders.

“Yes, missing. She left to fetch water and has not been seen since.”

Nicole stood, gathering her coat and hat. Mercy was out on the streets. The small piece of pie she’d consumed felt like lead in her stomach.

“I’ll go,” she said, but Wynonna and Waverly both protested simultaneously.

“She’s my girl!”

“Nicole, you can’t…”

“Waverly, you mustn’t…”

“In your condition…”

“Silence!” Nicole said, moving towards the doorway. Wynonna’s hand stopped her.

“She went through the back. So that’s where we go.” Wynonna’s grip was firm and Nicole sensed that this was not a fight she would win.

“I’m coming too!” Waverly said.

Nicole and Wynonna shouted “no!” at the same time.

“I am. I am a grown woman. I’m not a child. You’ll both do well to remember that.”

Waverly pushed past both Nicole and Wynonna, leaving them to stare at each other for a beat.

“Oh for God’s sake!” Wynonna spun on her heels, following her sister.

Nicole wondered why she was always left feeling so turned around by both Earp sisters.

~*~

The night air was chill and the sky black as the three women made their way from Gibson’s kitchen to Whitechapel’s streets. There were people moving up and down the sidewalks. Wynonna’s lantern illuminated empty alleys and the shapes of men and women fucking in dark corners.

Nicole kept close to Waverly, her hand never far from the hilt of her blade.

“You have no clue where she is, Wynonna!” Nicole said, wondering why they were aimlessly wandering.

“She went outside to fetch water and never returned. So look for…I don’t know…just look!”

“Did you say water?” Waverly asked, stopping abruptly. Nicole followed the line of Waverly’s gaze and swallowed hard.

An empty bucket lay on the ground, drying puddles leading away into an alley.

Wynonna wasted no time before running forward, calling Mercy’s name.

“Wynonna!” Nicole hissed, running after her. Her call was met with a scream.

In the darkness of the alley, Nicole could only hear the sound of her footsteps against the pavement and Waverly’s gasping breaths. The surrounding buildings blocked all light from the gas lamps, the only illumination came from the small beam of Wynonna’s lantern.

The screaming became louder and clearer the further they ran into the alley.

“My God, NO!”

Wynonna’s voice was anguished and furious and terrified all at the same time. If blood could run cold, Nicole was sure hers was frozen solid at the sound.

The scream came again, but this time Nicole recognized it, just as she recognized the shoes of the woman laying sprawled on the ground.

“Mercy?” She called, crouching alongside Waverly and Wynonna.

Mercy lay on the cold ground, her face hidden in her hands. There was blood all over her arms and forehead, though Nicole could not see its source. She cried pitifully, screaming and sobbing, even as Wynonna set down the lantern and raised both hands to Mercy’s face.

Waverly reached out too, circling Mercy’s wrists with her fingers and Nicole took the lantern, hoping to provide light. Mercy’s body seemed intact. There was no sign of tears or punctures in her light, cotton dress. But the blood…

“Oh, Christ, her face!” Wynonna said.

As Waverly moved Mercy’s hands for her face, the injured woman cried out again, her pain exasperated by her movements. Nicole could see the source of the blood and held in a horrified gasp. A thin blade has sliced Mercy from the corner of her eye to her lip, creating a crescent slash on her face. It bled profusely, drippings down her cheek onto her throat and chest.

Nicole reached into her pocket for a handkerchief, passing it forward so Wynonna and Waverly could press it to the wound.

“There, there, darling, we’ll get you safe,” Waverly cooed, taking the terrified woman’s hand. Mercy’s eyes widened in fear, but she seemed unable to speak.

“We need to get her to John,” Wynonna said.

“She needs a hospital, Wynonna,” Nicole responded, wondering if she should alert the police.

“And bring the eyes of London to Gibson’s? No.”

“Then let me summon the MET…”

“_No_! Don’t you understand? The more attention, the more likely the bastard who did this will find the rest of us!”

A voice from the shadows sounded loudly.

“She is not wrong.”

Nicole stood, extending her arms to protect the small huddle of women on the ground. The alley appeared to be empty, but Nicole could hear the tell-tale sound of a cape fluttering in the wind.

“Show yourself!” Nicole yelled, glancing behind her to find Waverly and Wynonna wide-eyed and confused. Wynonna reached for her gun, but Waverly stopped her, shaking her head profusely.

“And ruin the surprise?”

There was a sharp breath and then a thud and when Nicole turned back to the alley, she saw a shape in the shadows. Nicole retrieved her knife though she was unable to see the assailant.

“Oh, I am pleased to see you once more, strange creature,” the voice said. The shape did not move, but Nicole stepped closer.

“How is your leg?” She responded. The shape snorted.

“As well as your side, to be sure.”

If she could move fast enough, if she aimed right, Nicole wondered if she could…

“Though I do wish I’d had time for more. A man with dugs is not so queer, but what else would I find? A cock? Or a dirty quim…”

“Stop it now!” Waverly’s voice rang out loud and biting in the alleyway. Nicole’s anger quickly turned to fear.

“Oh, a small one, is it? Easy to catch and catch I will!”

The shape moved forward and Nicole leapt, unwilling to let the monster anywhere near Waverly or Wynonna or Mercy. She crouched, barrelling into the body with all of her weight, praying it was enough to stop him.

A fist came down hard on her back, but Nicole did not relent, her arms locking around the invisible foe who was all black wool and fury.

_Tall_

_Pale_

_Cigarettes_

_Thin_

Nicole wrestled, pushing, trying to force the man out of the alleyway and into the light. Her back throbbed from his repeated blows and his hands tore at her shoulders and head. She tried angling her knife, but the blade was large and it would cost her hold on him.

“Enough,” the voice said, calm and unaffected. He did not sound like a man grappling with a woman for his survival.

The fist that connected with her temple came out of nowhere. The ring on his finger punctured her skin. Nicole fell to her knees, her vision cloudy and muddled. The man ran, disappearing without a trace just as Nicole hit the cold, pavement.

The last sound she heard was Waverly’s screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> As I've said before, each chapter takes a great deal of time to write due to the style of dialogue and research considerations. I very much appreciate those of you who have stuck with this story! I'm writing as fast as I can...I promise!
> 
> Your comments are the fuel that keeps me going. Let me know what you think about this one!


	9. In This Life and the Next

Mercy’s body lay heavily in Nicole’s arms.

Nicole winced at the strain but refused to stop walking, lest they spend another second away from John’s life-saving care. Beside her, Wynonna and Waverly kept up as best they could, skirts in hand, weapons raised.

Waverly had taken Nicole’s knife and Wynonna was busy with her rifle, which left Nicole to somewhat woozily carry Mercy.

She had woken quickly, pushing herself up on the pavement to find both Earp sisters screaming at her. Waverly was all concern and care, cradling Nicole’s face in her hand. Wynonna, on the other hand, was pure fury, shouting at the heavens and at their offender and at Nicole to _wake the bloody hell up_.

Nicole’s head ached and she was drenched in sweat and Mercy’s blood, but otherwise the blow had only temporarily incapacitated her. Long enough for the Ripper to run. Long enough to lose him once more.

“Are you quite alright, darling?” Waverly’s voice was breathless.

“Yes. No harm done. Let’s just get back,” Nicole said, trying to sound reassuring.

The Ripper’s ring had left a mark on her temple and it stung, indicating that he’d broken the skin. She felt winded and achy and scared, but most of all, she just wanted to get Mercy some help. Mercy’s soft moans and cries inspired Nicole’s every footstep.

The lantern above Gibson’s backdoor shown like a guiding light. Nicole quickened her pace, ignoring the pull in her arms as Mercy’s body grew heavier.

“Stay awake, Mercy, stay awake,” she chanted, her lips moving against Mercy’s fevered forehead. Wynonna ran ahead, screaming for John, but Nicole could only focus on what was in front of her. The water pump. The steps. The door. The kitchen.

She rushed into the dance hall, lowering Mercy to one of the long tables in front of the bar. Mercy’s face stuck to Nicole’s shoulder and she screamed as Nicole tried to ease her onto the table.

“Sorry, Mercy, so sorry,” Nicole said, finding herself surrounded by people and light.

John was there and Rosita and Wynonna held lanterns and there was the bustle of movement and noise. Nicole’s arm shook with exertion, but they’d made it back, she’d carried Mercy to John, and now perhaps Mercy’s life could be saved.

Mercy looked so pitiful on the table. She whimpered and twitched and moaned and Nicole wanted to reach for her, to take her hand and make promises, but no promises could be made.

Instead, before Nicole could move, another body fell into hers, a much more welcome body pressed against her chest.

“Hello, love,” Nicole whispered into Waverly’s hair, burying her fingers in the long, honey-brown hair. She inhaled deeply, taking in Waverly’s scent, pretending it could cover the pungent odor of sweat and blood emanating from her own body.

“Are you alright?” Waverly’s voice was muffled. Belatedly, Nicole realized that she wearing the shirt Gus had patched for her. And washed. And patched again.

Perhaps the shirt itself brought ill tidings. Nicole made a mental note to burn it.

“I am. I promise.”

“I thought he’d killed you,” Waverly said, arms tightening around Nicole’s middle.

“It takes more than that to kill me, sweetheart.”

“Must you always play the hero?” Waverly leaned back, frowning up at Nicole. Nicole offered a half-smile in response. It was the best she could do.

Xavier interrupted before Nicole could answer, sweeping into the room half-dressed, carrying a lantern in one hand and a blanket in the other.

“Nicole! Your face!” He cried, raising the light towards her. Nicole begrudgingly freed herself from Waverly and shook her head, trying to calm Xavier.

“I am well, I promise. We must focus on Mercy now,” Nicole said.

Xavier shifted the blanket and reached up, cupping Nicole’s cheek with one hand.

“You after, do you hear me?”

“Of course.”

The task ahead was grim.

Mercy cried and squirmed until John opened his bag and lifted a bottle of chloroform. He carefully poured some onto handkerchief and holding it at arm’s length, gently placed it against Mercy’s mouth. At first she cried out, the pain of the material against her face excrutiating, but the drug worked fast and they all sighed in relief when her body went limp.

“Will she live?” Gus asked, pragmatic as always. John raised one dark eyebrow, frowning.

“Aye. Though a beauty she will never be again,” he said, lowly.

Silence passed between the group, but they quickly took their places around the table, hoping to help as much as possible.

John sat by Mercy’s face, threading sutures made of cat gut through a needle. Wynonna stood next to him, holding a lantern to provide enough light. On his other side, Gus managed a bucket of water and bloody towels, switching them for clean fabric when John reached for her.

Rosita and Waverly sat across from John, each holding Mercy’s hand. Though the woman was unconscious, Nicole hoped that the presence of all who loved her would be enough. The cut was deep, Nicole could see bone and teeth, but slowly John stitched, each suture a spider’s leg against Mercy’s pale cheek.

“Waverly?” Xavier said quietly, leaning down to the woman in question.

“Hmm?”

“Could you sketch Nicole’s wound?” He handed her a pencil and a sheet of paper. She immediately took the items, nodding, and Nicole exchanged a begrudging glance at her best friend.

She sat down next to Waverly, unable to keep her eyes from John’s hand as he slowly stitched Mercy’s face back together. When Waverly’s fingers gently untangled strands of bloody, sweaty hair from Nicole’s temple, she held in a sigh. Waverly always made her feel good.

The only sound in the room was Mercy’s laboured breathing. They were all silent, watching her. Nicole heard the barely perceptible pencil scratches next to her, but didn’t move from her vigil. Mercy looked so pail. As did John. The blood on his hands in sharp contrast to his fingers.

“It looks like an _S_,” Waverly said, her voice barely a whisper. This made Nicole turn to look at the paper in Waverly’s hand.

Indeed, there was an S apparently staining her skin. Waverly had done a remarkable job in only a few moments of capturing the side of Nicole’s head. Nicole made a mental note to tell her later.

“S,” Xavier said, taking the page from Waverly.

_Svane_

Nicole could not bring herself to say the name out loud. The mere mention of Charles still upset Waverly who alternated between fear and a desire to castrate him. Nicole did not think this evening the best time to theorize about Charles Hardy and his footman.

“Alright. It’s done,” John said after another moment. He took a small pair of scissors from his bag and cut a piece of loose suture near Mercy’s lip. Nicole could not see her face, but judging from Wynonna’s pallor and the tight set of Gus’ lips, the job was not beautiful.

John carefully lay bandages over his work, wrapping gauze around Mercy’s face and head. She looked like a mummy, the kind Nicole had seen at the British Museum. But unlike the Egyptian dead, Mercy was still blessedly alive though Nicole’s heart ached for her.

“We must watch her for infection and bleeding, but I’ve done all I can. Best bring her to bed while she’s still unconscious,” John said, dipping his hands into a fresh bucket of water. There was blood under his fingernails.

“Nice work, _Doc_,” Wynonna smirked and forced a smile. John raised one eyebrow, pleased at the new moniker.

“Let’s hope my mother’s spirit can hear you,” John said, his smile equally forced, but no less welcome in the gloom.

Xavier shuffled uncomfortably behind Nicole and she was about to say something when he cleared his throat and extended his hand towards John.

“Impressive work, Henry.”

John stared at Xavier’s hand before taking it.

“Thank you, Dolls. I wish I could do more.”

“Shall we bring her upstairs?” Xavier asked.

“Aye, it will be easy work for us two.”

The affairs of men would always be a mystery to Nicole. She imagined witnessing two lions, circling the other, a lioness watching from afar feigning disinterest.

With some careful negotiation, John cradled Mercy’s head against his chest while Xavier picked her up in his arms. They were followed up the stairs by Rosita and Gus, each holding a bucket of water and a handful of gauze.

Wynonna took John’s bag and then turned to her sister.

“Coming, Waverly?”

“Yes, of course,” Waverly said. She reached towards Nicole offering her hand.

“Upstairs?”

Nicole paused and then looked down at herself, wincing at the blood-stained shirt that stuck to her skin.

“In a moment, Waverly. I think I’ll step outside for a moment. Sort myself out.”

Waverly frowned, but understood.

“Goodnight, love,” Nicole said. Waverly was about to say more when Wynonna pulled at her hand.

Perhaps she had wanted Nicole to come visit her? To say goodnight? To sleep by her side? Nicole could only feel the dried sweat and the stink of blood consumed her. She could not think of such softness, such pleasure, when Mercy’s gore saturated her clothing.

~*~

The yard was barely visible in the evening dark. Nicole held one candle in her hand, setting it on the edge of the well. Only hours before she had run through this place looking for Mercy. Now it was quiet and empty, save for the laundry line running from the kitchen’s window to a pole at the end of the property.

Nicole filled one bucket of water and started on her hands, scrubbing them with soap she’d taken from John’s supply. The sticky red stains quickly disappeared. She made sure to get her nails too.

The next bucket was for her face. She scrubbed and scrubbed, ignoring the sting as her rough work caught the newly made cut on her temple.

She wanted to be clean. She wanted to be free from the reminders of _him_.

Nicole filled bucket after bucket, her work becoming more harried as she washed her hair, her face once more, her hands over and over. It was late and it was unlikely that anyone could see her, and Nicole didn’t care. Let them look. Let them see.

She tore the shirt from her body, tossing it on the ground, hating the sight of it. Nicole lifted another bucket of water over her head, dousing herself, ignoring the trickles soaking through her makeshift brassiere. The water felt good. The sting of the cold felt right. She scrubbed and scrubbed until she could smell the lavender soap radiating from her skin. And then she scrubbed once more for good measure.

If anyone had seen her, they would have thought her mad, standing outside half-naked in the autumn cold, dripping wet and shaking.

Perhaps she _was_ mad.

Finally, out of breath and unable to control her shivers, Nicole looked up, wishing she could see the night sky.

At home in Amherstburg, the sky pressed down for miles, lighting the night with so many stars that sometimes Nicole imagined she would never see without those pinpricks of light again.

London was different. The factories spewed smoke at all hours and clouds blocked whatever glory the heavens held. Nicole curled her fists in frustration, tears forming at the corner of her eyes.

She saw Willa Earp’s face. And Polly Nichols. Annie Champan and Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes.

She saw them all. In life and in death. Mutilated and radiant and dead all at the same time. She saw husbands and children and friends.

She had failed them. She had failed each and every one of them. No matter their lives. No matter who they were, they deserved to be breathing, to be standing and sleeping and shitting and fucking. They deserved it. Whether they had children or not. Whether they had love or not. Their lives were worth something.

The Ripper took because he could. Because it was easy. He prowled and cut and cheated. He saw women as his own, as toy boxes to be opened and destroyed.

And now he knew Nicole’s face. And Wynonna’s face.

And Waverly’s.

Nicole inhaled sharply and opened her eyes, scanning the empty yard again, wondering if she was being watched. He could be anywhere. He could take anything.

Everything.

Life itself. Snuffed out. Stolen. Buried deep.

Nicole felt the air in her lungs. She felt the steady beating of her own heart. She felt the machinations of her body and she wondered at how temporary it all was.

And then she made a decision.

Because it could all go away. It could all be taken so easily. Time was not something she had. She could not hold it or borrow it or keep it safe and hidden away.

Time was a lie.

Nicole pulled a shirt from the laundry line, hoping Xavier would not mind, and then retrieved her candle.

The night sky hid itself from her. She would not wait to see it again.

~*~

Nicole did not pause before Waverly’s door, nor did she stop to wonder where everyone else in the house was sleeping. She turned the door handle and walked in, closing it behind her and sliding the lock shut.

Waverly made a small sound of surprise, but Nicole did not speak. Instead she allowed herself to look at Waverly who stood across the room next to a roaring fire in the hearth. It cast the space in golds and ambers. Nicole snuffed out her candle and put it down. There was no need for it anymore.

“Nicole?”

Waverly’s hair was loose and thick, cascading down her shoulders and back, honey and crimson in the firelight. She wore a fine, silk kimono, undoubtably imported from the far East. Nicole admired the light blue material, the pattern of cranes flying and perching. It suited Waverly. She suited fine things.

“I apologize for my appearance,” Nicole said, the warmth of the room slowing the shivers left over from her bath.

“You look quite cold, darling. Would you like to sit before the fire before you leave me for the night? That little room of yours is frigid!”

Waverly’s welcoming smile did much to warm Nicole, as well. But she could not bring herself to return the grin. Not yet.

“What if I do not wish to depart for the night?” Nicole asked.

Waverly visible swallowed.

“Nicole, what do you…”

“I have failed them all,” Nicole said, “but I will not fail you, Waverly, I cannot abide the notion.”

Waverly tilted her head, her face a study in confusion. She opened her mouth to respond and then closed it. Nicole knew she was speaking in riddles, she knew she was not making sense, but she pushed on. It was too important not to continue.

“You deserve propriety, Waverly, a proper courtship, the blessing of your family, you deserve all of these things and I so wished to give them to you, but now I feel as though I was wrong even in that!”

“Nicole…”

“We are here but for a short time, some of us less than others. And I do not want to waste another moment on propriety when time can be stolen, taken so suddenly…”

Waverly crossed the room and took Nicole’s hands.

“My love, your hands are like ice,” she said.

Nicole grasped Waverly’s hand with bruising strength.

“Be my wife?”

“You are speaking so queerly,” Waverly stammered, eyes wide with concern.

“If I were a man this would be so simple. We would have courted, and I would have asked for Wynonna’s blessing. But I am not a man and nothing is simple except that I love you, Waverly. I am not falling in love with you, I am already deeply, endlessly in love with you.”

Waverly’s wide eyes now accompanied an open mouth.

“I know this must all sound mad to you, but I promise I am not mad. Far from it, my love, I am seeing clearly for the first time in my sorry existence.”

“Nicole, I…”

Nicole stepped back, releasing Waverly’s hands. She had said too much. She had moved too quickly. Waverly appeared to be shocked and Nicole belatedly realized that perhaps she’d read them wrong. Perhaps for Waverly this was but an amusing dalliance, a forbidden romance to…

“I am in love with you too,” Waverly said instead.

“You are?”

“Come here you daft fool,” Waverly laughed, opening her arms.

Nicole happily obeyed, stepping into Waverly’s space and sheltering her body. The kimono’s silk felt smooth against Nicole’s hands and Waverly’s hair smelled like roses.

“But, Nicole, marriage? How…I…?” Waverly pulled back enough to look at Nicole’s face.

“We could not go to church and take our vows. But God is not in any building, Waverly, I know it, I have seen it myself. My father loved the church more than he loved any soul upon God’s earth, but he burned to death in God’s house. In what _he _believed to be God’s house.”

Waverly blanched, but listened intently.

“I have no riches to offer you, but my small salary. There could be no children, but there would be love Waverly. And protection. We need nothing but our words here, together. A marriage is not ink on a page. A marriage is an agreement of the soul, Waverly.”

Nicole could hear the panic in her own voice, the urgency, but she could not help it. For her part, Waverly appeared to be thinking deeply, though Nicole could see how troubled she was at the same time.

“Why now? Why do you ask this now?” Waverly said, stepping back and crossing her arms.

“Because I do not want to die without knowing that you are my wife.”

Waverly bristled.

“Do not ask this from a place of fear, Nicole. Do not speak of death…I won’t have it…”

“Waverly,” Nicole stepped forward, taking Waverly’s hand again, “tonight we looked into the face of darkness. I do not wish to face that darkness without you by my side.”

“And if there was no darkness? Would you still be speaking like this? Of God and souls?”

“Yes. Of course!”

“But why marriage? I _am_ by your side, I have no intention of straying…”

“Our time on this earth is so fleeting. I do not want to waste a moment more without you, Waverly. In the eyes of God, in the eyes of all the heavens, so that no matter what happens, I may have the honour of being your wife in this life and the next.”

Nicole could hear Waverly’s steady inhale and exhale. She knew she was likely speaking nonsense. Waverly could not _feel_ the intensity of what Nicole was feeling. But maybe she understood? Maybe she could see?

“In this life and the next?” Waverly repeated, releasing Nicole’s hand only to link their fingers together.

“Yes, love. I have no ring, but I have my word.”

“You speak so often of what you do not have, Nicole, but I am overwhelmed by the richness of your soul.”

Waverly reached for Nicole’s face, kissing her softly, her lips warm and dry against Nicole’s still cold skin.

“Let us be joined, then. Be my wife, as I shall be yours. In this life and the next,” Waverly said, her forehead pressed to Nicole’s.

“Do you mean it?”

“Yes.”

The tears came then, happy tears that Nicole felt against her cheeks. She smiled, unable to say or do anything else because she was in the midst of a miracle.

“Wait, wait!” Waverly laughed, stepping away from Nicole to rummage in a nearby table. She returned with a strip of cloth, the tartan foreign to Nicole’s eyes, but Waverly’s enthusiasm was contagious, and she soon found herself giggling as well when Waverly took Nicole’s hand and tried to tie the material around their joined fists.

With Nicole’s help, Waverly managed to tie a knot, their hands bound within soft greens and reds.

“Like the Celts do,” Waverly explained, and Nicole offered an amused smile.

“From one of your books?”

“Of course,” Wavery said, raising her chin in defiance.

Nicole cleared her throat, re-establishing the somber mood of earlier and then raised their joined hands.

“Waverly Earp,” she began and Waverly seemed to understand what was about to happen. She took a deep breath and Nicole did the same.

“I promise to protect you, provide for you, and love you, in this life and the next,” Nicole whispered.

Waverly blinked away her own tears and nodded along to Nicole’s vows.

“Nicole Haught,” she responded, speaking through a watery smile.

“I promise to protect you, provide for you, and love you, in this life and the next.”

They remained silent for a moment, letting the solemnity wash over them. And then Nicole leaned forward, unable to keep from kissing Waverly a second more.

“I love you,” she said, her lips pressed to Waverly’s.

“And I you, Nicole. More than I could ever say.”

It was Waverly who removed the tartan cloth. She folded it carefully and kissed it before placing it in a drawer once more. Nicole sat down on the bed and watched, the warmth of the room finally penetrating through her chill.

“Nicole?”

Waverly stood out of arm’s reach, staring intensely.

“Yes?”

“There is one last step should we wish for this marriage to be recognized,” Waverly said, voice low.

Nicole licked her lips and found Waverly’s eyes. She felt the ripple between them, a power she had never known, but sought so desperately.

Waverly loosened the knot on her robe, letting it fall open. The long shadows cast by the fire kept her mostly hidden, but the strip of pale skin between her breasts had Nicole flexing her fingers against the bedsheets.

And the darkness between Waverly’s legs…secret and unknown…Nicole could feel herself clench deep inside.

So much had been said. They had spoken so quickly and decided so quickly. Nicole could barely believe the events of the last ten minutes. She could still smell the soap on her body, still remember the heat of Mercy’s blood against her skin. And now Waverly was so close, offering herself, and they had made vows…

Nicole lowered her head once and pressed her hand to her chest, trying to steady herself. She had dreamed of Waverly, though she had tried not to. And now she could touch Waverly. She could take Waverly. Waverly belonged to her, just as she belonged to Waverly and it felt as though her entire body was weighted down to the bed.

“I never dared to believe…never dared to hope…” Nicole said, her eyes closed. If she opened them, Waverly would be gone, and she would be alone once more in her childhood home. The small, suffocating spaces. Her father’s angry face. Her mother’s disapproving sighs. She would be alone forever and ever…

“My love, we shall not do anything you do not wish to do,” Waverly said, her voice warm and sweet.

Nicole looked up, overwhelmed by the sight of Waverly before her.

“I wish it, Waverly. I wish so much. I am afraid of how much I wish.”

“Then tell me,” Waverly began, the sweetness in her voice replaced with something else, “what do you wish, Nicole?”

“I wish to know your deepest desires. I wish to make them come true.”

Waverly’s eyebrows rose comically. The heated gaze shifted into an expression of true surprise and she half-smiled and half-gasped.

“What is it?” Nicole asked, confused by the change in mood.

“No one has ever asked that of me. That’s not how…I am not accustomed to…_this_.”

“You are my wife, Waverly. All I want is to serve you. To provide in every way.”

This time it was Nicole whose voice lowered.

“My wife,” Waverly repeated, testing out the words. She smiled as she did so, her eyes going round and soft. It made Nicole feel an overwhelming wave of love for her, a breath-taking, chest-crushing, sensation of love.

“Then I wish to see _my_ wife,” Waverly said, tilting her head in challenge.

“Can you not see her now?” Nicole knew what Waverly was asking, but she liked the way Waverly looked when Nicole teased. She liked the mild annoyance.

“I wish to see _all _of my wife.”

“Very well,” Nicole answered, standing from the bed.

Waverly did not move, her open robe still offered an alluring glimpse of what lay beneath, but Nicole was first going to give Waverly exactly what she wanted. Nicole was going to offer herself fully.

There were no nerves, no self-consciousness. In that moment, all Nicole could think of was pleasing Waverly. Of obeying Waverly’s every command. It made her feel powerful. She felt taller. Stronger. She wanted Waverly to see her. Every last inch of her.

Nicole started with her shirt, pulling it over her head and dropping it where she stood. Her trousers and boots followed. When she straightened her stance, she did not even look at Waverly. Instead, she continued to disrobe, undoing the bindings around her chest and then pulling down her underclothes. She stood in a pile of her things on the floor, aware that she was naked. No one had seen her naked since she was a small child.

When Nicole finally looked at Waverly, she was surprised to find her new wife hazy eyed and blushing.

“I knew you were beautiful. But, Nicole, my God…” Waverly breathed, her eyes everywhere.

“May I see you?” Nicole asked, her own voice unsteady.

This was happening. It was real. And Nicole knew there was no stopping it.

Waverly’s kimono fell gracefully, landing on the floor like lapping waves at twilight. Nicole had to remind herself that she was allowed to look. And she did.

Dancer’s legs with bruised knees.

Pale thighs.

Nicole’s fingers twitched at the sight of dark curls and the slightest hint of pink…

Full breasts and slim shoulders.

And the most miraculous face she’d ever seen.

“I would like to touch you,” Waverly said and Nicole could only nod, rendered speechless.

She did not expect Waverly’s fingers to find the scar at her hip. A thumb traced its outline, the ridged, darkened tissue left from fire. Nicole had hated the scar, but as she watched Waverly’s hand touch it, she no longer saw it as something ugly. It was part of her and she was Waverly’s and Waverly did not think it ugly.

Nicole stepped forward first, into Waverly’s space, loosely wrapping her arms around Waverly’s hips. It brought them together. Breast to breast. Stomach to stomach. The wiry auburn curls between Nicole’s thighs brushed Waverly, tickling.

She wondered if Waverly could feel how wet she was. She didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or proud.

Waverly reached up into Nicole’s hair, pulling her forward, and they kissed, a wet, endless kiss that Nicole felt within every part of herself.

Waverly’s tongue slid against Nicole’s, her lips brushing against the warmth of Nicole’s mouth. Nicole wondered if the kiss would end her. If it would be enough. She traced her fingers from Waverly’s hips and up her back, counting each ridge of Waverly’s spine in her mind.

“I desire you greatly,” Nicole whispered against Waverly’s lips, lowering her face to Waverly’s neck so she could kiss the tantalizing skin below her ear. Waverly shook beneath Nicole’s hands, her fingers grasping Nicole’s hair with more strength.

Nicole knew then what it meant to hold all the power in the world.

“Then take me, darling.”

Waverly stepped away from Nicole for only a second. She moved beside her, closer to the bed, and leaned down, resting her forearms against the mattress.

Nicole was surprised by the move. She looked down, admiring the line of Waverly’s back. Her heart broke at the scar on Waverly’s bottom, faded but clearly the impression of a belt buckle. Nicole had one similar on her shoulder.

She knew Waverly meant for her to stand behind her, to _take_ her, but Nicole wanted something different. She laid one hand on Waverly’s spine, still astonished that she was allowed to touch her at all.

“Would you lie down on the bed, love? She asked.

Waverly turned, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Oh, I thought…I mean, _he_ always…”

“I am not _him_,” Nicole said, gently helping Waverly stand. She took Waverly’s hand then and helped her sit on the bed, watching happily when Waverly lay down, leaving enough room for Nicole to sit beside her.

Despite the newness of the situation for Nicole, it was Waverly who looked apprehensive. She lay flat on her back, watching Nicole carefully. For her part, Nicole turned and propped herself up on her knees, openly admiring Waverly below her.

She leaned over Waverly and kissed her again, laughing against Waverly’s lips as they turned into a smile. Nicole continued her exploration, moving to straddle Waverly’s waist and reaching down with her hands, finally touching pale, warm skin.

Waverly sighed happily as Nicole’s fingers found her tummy and then her arms. Nicole leaned down again to kiss Waverly’s shoulders and licked gently against the hollow of her throat. Each touch brought a grin to Waverly’s lips, though she was far from relaxed. Waverly’s body felt like electricity beneath Nicole’s touch, like the lightbulb she’d seen at a fair, the static and light hissing to life.

Nicole laughed when Waverly sighed and folded her hands behind her head, revealing smooth armpits. Nicole immediately reached up to tickle one and nearly moaned when Waverly’s squirming body brushed against her groin.

“Like the girls in Paris,” Waverly said, shrugging her shoulder to give Nicole more access to an adorable armpit.

“_Ohh la, la_,” Nicole laughed, kissing Waverly again.

She leaned up then, raising her arms over her head.

“I’m not like one of your Parisian girls,” she said, revealing the soft, red hair under her arms. Waverly licked her lips, and her laughter disappeared.

“I am glad of that, darling. Every part of you is unfairly alluring,” Waverly answered, cheeks flushed. Nicole could feel the movement of Waverly’s legs beneath her, she could see the blush spread across her chest.

“I have tried so hard not to look,” Nicole confessed, her eyes unabashedly claiming Waverly’s chest. Waverly’s breasts were full, the nipples stiff and pink, and the tug between Nicole’s legs became nearly unbearable.

“Look now,” Waverly begged, “touch now. Please, Nicole, _please_.”

The skin between Waverly’s breasts was soft to the touch against Nicole’s forehead. She breathed in deeply, taking one moment to cherish what was happening. And when the moment was over, Nicole turned, flicking her tongue against one, aching nipple while her free hand cupped Waverly’s breast, stroking the sensitive skin.

The gasp from above was all Nicole needed to keep going. She sucked hard, her teeth softly grazing Waverly’s sensitive skin. She switched, seeking Waverly’s other breast, letting her body shift as Waverly arched beneath her.

Every taste of Waverly’s skin, the feel of Waverly beneath her, the touch of Waverly’s hands as they wrapped around her arms, clutching her elbows…Nicole stopped thinking and gave in to all the want she’d kept inside.

She moved down, finding gasping ribs and sharp hip bones, each deserving of a nibble, of a lick, of a hot tongue. When she reached Waverly’s thighs, when she moved down Waverly’s body, easing herself down the bed, the scent nearly bewitched her completely. Nicole kissed below Waverly’s naval, reaching up with her hands to palm each breast, and then buried her nose in the dark nest of hair she found, inhaling deeply.

“You…you don’t need to do that, darling,” Waverly said, which made Nicole look up with a start.

“You don’t want me to?”

“No, I mean, it’s just…_he_ finds it emasculating and…”

Nicole did not move from the spot. Instead she used one hand to separate Waverly’s thighs and then leaned down, pausing with her lips nearly touching, pink, glistening flesh.

“I am not him,” Nicole said again, flicking her tongue against Waverly’s clit.

“Thank God for that,” Waverly breathed as Nicole lowered her face, rubbing her lips and her nose against Waverly’s opening, feeling warmth and wet on her face. When Waverly’s hands found Nicole’s hair, Nicole sucked hard on Waverly’s clit, delighted by its small, solid heat in her mouth.

Waverly’s body writhed beneath her, every lash of her tongue made Waverly pant and cry out. She raised her legs over Nicole’s shoulders, opening herself fully, giving herself to Nicole and Nicole could only take and take in response. She circled Waverly’s cunt with the tip of her finger, feeling the smoothness, tasting all of her salty sweet, pushing herself inside. A hard heel pressed into Nicole’s back, urging her on, but Nicole could barely hear Waverly’s begging cries for more as Waverly’s thighs brushed against her damp cheeks.

Nicole added a second fingers, eyes closed as she worked, overcome by how hot Waverly was, by the sight of moisture pooling against the bed sheets from between Waverly’s legs. Nicole adjusted her hand, thrusting in and out, testing a different angle only to have Waverly’s fingers in her hair pull so hard that Nicole nearly yelped in pain.

“There, there, there, darling, please, there…”

Nicole thrust again, and sucked, and bit, her free hand coasting up Waverly’s stomach, between her breasts, feeling the thundering heartbeat beneath her touch.

Waverly grabbed Nicole’s hand, pulling it up, and Nicole had to pause and moan herself as she felt rather than saw Waverly lick her fingertips. She looked up, watching Waverly’s suck on her fingers, and it was all she could do not to reach down between her own legs and attend to the constant need.

But she had to focus on Waverly. She wanted to focus on Waverly.

Each suck of Waverly’s mouth was matched by Nicole’s tongue against Waverly’s clit. Each gasp was rewarded by another thrust.

“_Nicole_,” Waverly called, struggling, her hips disrupting Nicole’s work as they bounced, losing their rhythm.

Nicole curled her fingers. She sucked hard on Waverly’s clit, lashing it with tongue. The heels against her back dug in, Waverly pulled on Nicole’s hand, holding it to her breast, squeezing it tightly.

And then Waverly arched and twisted and Nicole felt Waverly’s release deep inside. The wetness was immediate, it coated Nicole’s fingers and her palm and her chin. She could feel it dripping and when Waverly’s body stilled, Nicole could not stop herself from quickly removing her hand and licking the still-clenching flesh.

She coated herself in Waverly, her chin, her mouth, her nose. She knew she was a mess, but she could no sooner move from between Waverly’s legs than stop the sun rise each morning. She lapped at Waverly’s centre and her thighs, always coming back to kiss the swollen, pink that would forever be her altar.

Part of her wanted to ask if _he_ had made Waverly feel this way too. If _he_ had left her panting and soaked, but Nicole did not want to invite him into their marriage bed. Not when Waverly was reaching for her with open arms and needy hands.

Nicole straddled Waverly’s hips again and draped herself over Waverly’s body, carefully to hold her weight on her knees and elbows.

“Good lord,” Waverly said, out of breath, but smiling. Her eyes were lidded, but she wrapped Nicole in a hug, holding Nicole to her body, seemingly enjoying the warmth and the sturdy presence of Nicole in her arms.

“Are you alright, love?” Nicole asked, kissing Waverly’s cheeks. Waverly surprised her with a curious tongue against her lips, licking away all evidence of Nicole’s heavenly work.

“Where have you been hiding from me all these years?” Waverly asked, her hands stroking Nicole’s hair back from her forehead and behind her ears. Waverly’s eyes looked at Nicole with such tenderness that it took Nicole a moment to answer the question.

“Canada,” she said, only for Waverly to burst into laughter. Nicole followed.

The vibrations of their laughter brought Waverly’s body impossibly closer to Nicole’s. It was overwhelming, as much as it was enjoyable. Nicole inhaled sharply, turning her face from Waverly to release a shuddering breath.

“Why do you hide from me?” Waverly asked, the laughter subsiding.

“Hmmm?”

Nicole turned back and looked down.

“I wish to always know how you feel, Nicole. There is no shame in it,” Waverly said.

Nicole smiled sadly and kissed Waverly’s forehead.

“I have been a creature that’s known nothing but shame. Even now, with you here, I do not know how to ask for what you freely give.”

Waverly’s hands lightly stroked Nicole’s back, soothing Nicole.

“I treated you so horribly, Nicole. I made it worse,” Waverly said, those hazel-green eyes filling with tears.

“No, love, no more of that.”

They were content in silence for a moment. Nicole kissed Waverly softly and Waverly responded, bringing her hands to Nicole’s face so she could hold her.

“Then I will ask on your behalf,” Waverly whispered against Nicole’s lips.

Before Nicole could question Waverly’s meaning, Waverly reached down, palming one of Nicole’s breasts. The sensation of Waverly’s palm against her nipple made Nicole inhale sharply again, but this time when she tried to turn her face, Waverly would not let her.

“You have waited for so long,” Waverly said, her voice low and calm. Nicole could only nod, licking her lips, hardly believing that any of this was real and not the result of some fever dream.

Waverly scooted down the bed just a little, moving beneath Nicole so she could kiss Nicole’s shoulders and then her breasts. Each kiss was soft, but purposeful. When a hot tongue lashed her nipple, Nicole reared up, nearly dislodging Waverly’s work.

“You never have to wait again, my love, you never have to be without.”

Nicole held herself up while Waverly kissed and sucked her skin, each moment making the tug between her legs more and more distracting. She could not believe the noises coming from her throat, the sighs and whines and breathy words that called to God and the angels and mostly to Waverly.

“Does it hurt, darling?” Waverly cooed and Nicole thought she was about to come undone on the spot. She was throbbing, so swollen that she considered lowering herself to Waverly’s stomach and using the friction to finish. It would not take much.

“Uh huh,” Nicole breathed, barely able to keep herself propped up anymore. Her hands clutched the bedsheets as she hovered over Waverly, still overwhelmed by the feel of Waverly’s fingers thumbing her nipple.

“Let me make it better.”

Waverly lowered her free hand, pausing only briefly to run her fingers through the amber curls below Nicole’s naval. She tugged once and Nicole’s arms shook, her legs spreading wider over Waverly’s body, exposing herself.

“Sit up, darling, I want you to watch.”

Nicole obeyed though it was a struggle. She shifted her weight to her knees, one planted on either side of Waverly’s hips. And then she looked down, watching Waverly’s hand as it tugged her curls again. She made an indecipherable sound, half longing, half pleasure, and when Waverly’s fingers lowered, when they touched her clit, visible and swollen, Nicole cried out.

Each pass of Waverly’s fingers made her clench her fists, she could barely stop herself from moving, from grinding down.

When Waverly’s other hand stroked her opening, Nicole went rigid, the feeling so strong that she could not believe her body capable of such sensation. One finger entered her, foreign at first, strange, but soon she craved more, she craved feeling full.

“More,” Nicole begged. Waverly added another finger. Her thumb circled Nicole’s clit, up and down, stroking, as her fingers curled and thrust and curled again.

Each touch felt like cleansing fire. Nicole tipped her head back, her arms loose at her sides, as she used her knees to rhythmically lift herself to meet each of Waverly’s thrusts. She felt no shame, no embarrassment at the wet dripping between her legs, staining her thighs, down onto Waverly’s pale skin. She felt no shame only exhilaration, and beauty, and power.

She felt her becoming. Her metamorphosis.

She knew herself in that moment as deeply and truly as she ever would.

Waverly’s hands revived her.

Nicole cupped her own breasts, and looked down again, watching Waverly’s hands, watching as each movement brought her closer and closer to a clarity she’d only ever hoped for in her dreams.

And then the current charged forward, from deep inside, to her head, to her toes, Nicole gasped out, both hands circling Waverly’s wrists to feel the thrust and jerk. She felt the instruments of her pleasure moving, over and over, and when the current surged, she jolted, sighing and moaning and begging for Waverly, always Waverly.

She rode Waverly’s fingers until she could not move anymore. She looked one more time at Waverly’s fingers on her clit, proud and prominent, and glistening. And when Waverly released her, Nicole fell forward, her head finding Waverly’s shoulder as a refuge from her great triumph.

“No more pain. No more hurt,” Waverly said, stroking Nicole’s hair from her forehead. Nicole nodded, still feeling the ripples of pleasure in her body. The absence of Waverly’s fingers was a loss. They fit inside her. The missing key. Unlocked at last, never to be hidden again.

Nicole turned, rolling onto her back and bringing Waverly with her. She wrapped one arm around Waverly’s shoulders, smiling against Waverly’s head where it now rested against her shoulder.

She had no idea of the time. She had no idea of the day. All she knew was Waverly who smelled of roses and sweat and sex.

“I’m afraid you will disappear,” Waverly said, raising herself on one elbow to look down at Nicole.

“What? Never, love.”

“You are like something from a storybook. What if I awaken to find you a dream?”

Nicole stroked her fingers down Waverly’s cheek.

“Then it is a shared dream, Waverly. I am here.”

“And here you shall stay?”

“Yes,” Nicole said.

They listened to each other breathe for a time, Nicole tracing patterns on Waverly’s back and Waverly sliding her fingers across Nicole’s torso.

“Tell me of the girl you kissed before,” Waverly whispered, looking down at Nicole with mischief in her eyes. Nicole smirked and playfully pinched Waverly’s shoulder.

“Her name was Charlotte. I called her Shae.”

“Oh, _Charlotte_, how posh,” Waverly said.

Nicole ignored the comment.

“We met at school. She would call at my home and we would play in the yard while my mother prepared dinner.”

“Just played in the yard? Nothing more?”

“My jealous wife,” Nicole teased.

“Devastatingly so. But do go on.”

“Very well,” Nicole said, lightly kissing Waverly before she continued speaking.

“We would share secrets and games, as girls do. But as we grew older, my affections for her were more than was…natural.”

Waverly stroked Nicole’s tummy, her touch comforting in light of the painful memories.

“She would sleep at my home on nights when her father was away. He was a widower and travelled to the markets quite often. I kissed her once and she kissed me back. But I hoped for more and…”

Nicole trailed off, shrugging. It had long been an open wound, but Waverly’s fingers wove healing skin over the abscess. She let herself feel each gentle stroke, breathing steadily as Waverly tickled her sides, her scar, below her navel.

Clever fingers found auburn wiry curls once more and while Waverly seemed oblivious to the effect, Nicole found herself shakily exhaling with each tug.

“She was a fool,” Waverly said, fingers rubbing and playing, never dipping lower.

“Not everyone is like me…like…us,” Nicole breathed, trying to steady herself.

Waverly leaned down, pressing her lips to Nicole’s.

“I _am _like you. Do not doubt that for a moment, love,” she said.

“I am afraid too. That you will change your mind.”

“Never, darling, never, never.”

Nicole took in the words, burying them deep within her heart. She locked them behind arteries and muscle, behind bone and blood, safeguarded forevermore.

Waverly’s clever fingers continued to stroke and Nicole found herself unable to keep still any longer. Her legs fell open, the cool air hitting the warmth of her centre, and Waverly noticed, pausing her movements to look at Nicole with deep, unapologetic devotion.

“Do you want more, love?”

Nicole widened her legs further, spreading them open in invitation.

“Yes,” she said, anticipation causing her voice to shake.

“You may always have more, Nicole. Always. More and more and more.”

Waverly’s fingers descended.

A lifetime of starvation was brought to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY. Good lord.
> 
> Comments would make my day, my week, my month, and my year.


	10. Resurrection

Nicole was quite certain that she was about to die.

She looked down, still shocked, still unbelieving, and then tilted her head back, ready to meet her maker.

Waverly’s tongue licked up from Nicole’s centre to her clit, the slick movement forcing a moan from Nicole’s mouth. Her knees were shaking, she hoped desperately she would not topple over or lose her balance.

Straddling Waverly’s face was an ecstasy she could never have imagined. Feeling Waverly’s mouth on her was beyond any feeling she’d ever felt. If this was death, Nicole welcomed it.

Nicole kept her hands firmly on the headboard, holding on for balance. She jerked down, grinding against Waverly’s face, yelping when Waverly’s nose brushed her clit.

Waverly was relentless. Each movement of her face was a deliberate attempt to end Nicole. Waverly’s hands slid from Nicole’s thighs to her hips and then up again, cupping her breasts, squeezing and brushing and Nicole lurched up, thrusting, not caring if Waverly could breathe or if she was going to break the bed or if anyone could hear her delighted moan.

She had enough sense to fall to the side, avoiding crushing Waverly with her body. The pulsating orgasm slowly subsided, but it still felt tender between Nicole’s legs, to the point that she curled into herself, cupping her aching cunt, feeling the intensity against her palm.

“Have I hurt you?” Waverly asked, breathless, her hand lightly wrapping around Nicole’s ankle where it lay on the bed close to her head.

“Yes. In the best of ways. Yes.”

Waverly kissed up Nicole’s leg, pressing her lips to Nicole’s calf and her knee.

For her part, Nicole felt no need to move at all. Her lungs were just returning to normal, but she still felt the need to curl in on herself, a smile gracing her face as the final tremors from her orgasm faded.

“Come here, my wounded love,” Waverly said, sliding her hands towards Nicole’s armpits. It took some maneuvering, but eventually Waverly rested against the headboard with Nicole’s head comfortably in her lap.

Nicole gazed up, looking at Waverly’s smiling face, and wondered how she’d landed in the embrace of an angel.

“Tell me about the fire.”

Waverly’s voice was soft, but Nicole grimaced as if she’d shouted the request out loud.

“Such unpleasantness,” Nicole said, crossing her ankles. She vaguely wondered when she’d grown so comfortable naked. Lying vulnerable and open next to Waverly felt right. Like it was where she was supposed to be.

“Perhaps, but I want to know everything about you, Nicole. Both the joys and the _unpleasantness_,” Waverly explained, her fingers brushing hair back from Nicole’s forehead.

Waverly free hand reached down to Nicole’s hip, stroking the raised skin of the scar. The actions calmed Nicole, they lulled her, and Waverly had a point. For Nicole wished to know everything about Waverly too. The good. The terrible. All of it.

Nicole reached down for Waverly’s hand and brought it to her chest, content to play with Waverly’s fingers as she began to speak.

“We lived next to the church…my father was the pastor,” she began, focusing her gaze far from Waverly’s face. The wall across from the bed was suddenly interesting.

“He was there more than he was home. My mother was deeply devoted to him and to the church…much more devoted to them than to me. I spent many nights alone while they mended benches or painted windowsills. I preferred it that way, it was easier than when they _were_ at home, their attentions were never pleasant…”

“Why?” Waverly asked, the hand in Nicole’s hair brushed it back over and over.

“I was a disappointment. Boyish and headstrong. I preferred to be out milking cows than in church saying my prayers. My mother sensed my unnaturalness early. She tried much to release me from such vices. Cold baths, food withheld, dresses…so many dresses…but I could not conform, though I prayed to God that he would change me.”

“You did?”

Nicole nodded, remember her youthful pleas to a God she was sure would not listen.

“As I grew older, they stopped paying much attention at all. Xavier and I were inseparable and we had little need of parents or friends or much of anything. We had books and each other. Those were good years.”

Nicole squeezed Waverly’s hand. Her heart ached for her friend who seemed caught between the woman he loved and the reality that she was not his.

Nicole was suddenly intensely aware of her luck, of the miracle that was this moment. She had Waverly and they were together and nothing could come between them.

“But Xavier left for Toronto and while his letters kept me busy with work, I was mostly alone. My parents disapproved of what I was doing, of course, it was unfathomable that a woman of my age be both unmarried and caught up in crime and moral destitution, but I loved it. Each letter from Xavier was glimpse at a different life, a different world.”

The bed was so soft beneath Nicole’s body that for a moment, she considered pulling Waverly down and going to sleep. She briefly wondered what time it was. There was no sense of night or day. Not that it mattered anymore. Time was Waverly.

“The fire started on the alter. A candle fell, a simple mistake, nothing more. I smelled the smoke and ran from the field, but the wood was old and dry…by the time I kicked through the door, part of the roof had collapsed and my father was dead. My mother was trapped beneath the rubble and I tried to get to her, I crawled towards her, but…”

She could still smell the smoke. She could still see the flames lick her father’s corpse. And she could still see her mother’s terrified eyes, she could still feel her mother’s hand in hers, and she could still remember the moment her mother let go and gave herself to the inferno. The moment her mother chose death with her husband instead of life with her daughter.

“Darling that’s horrendous,” Waverly said, releasing Nicole’s hand so she could stroke Nicole’s cheek.

“There were rumours after,” Nicole explained, “and I left. Never to return.”

“Those ignorant fools thought you were at fault?”

Nicole shrugged.

“It is why the scar is so ghastly. I did not have time to see the town’s physician. Perhaps it was infected, I am not sure. I was fevered on the train to Toronto and Xavier cared for me while I convalesced. But it was better to risk death in Toronto than the mob’s justice in Amherstburg. It was a never home to me. I suppose I have never really had a home.”

“And now?” Waverly looked down, tilting her head.

The warmth in Nicole’s chest bloomed without warning and came with the realization that she had been looking in the wrong place for her entire life. That home was not a building or a church or a town.

“Now I have all that I have ever wanted, right before my very eyes,” Nicole said, taking in Waverly’s impossible face.

Waverly sighed and smiled in that way that made her eyes crinkle. Nicole rose from Waverly’s lap and into her arms. She let herself be held. She let herself hold. She felt herself born anew.

~*~

Nicole awoke to the sound of a pencil scratching against paper.

She blinked heavily and then pressed her hand over her eyes, frowning when she realized that she’d been asleep.

“Sorry, sorry,” she mumbled, pushing herself up in bed, only for Waverly to offer a bashful grin.

Waverly was sitting up in bed, wearing Nicole’s shirt. She had a sketchbook in one hand and a pencil in the other and from the noise, it was quite obvious what she was doing.

“May I see?” Nicole asked, propping herself up on one elbow. The sheets fell and Nicole liked the way Waverly’s eyes drifted downwards.

“You just looked so peaceful, darling,” Waverly said, shrugging her shoulders. She turned the book, offering Nicole a glimpse of her work.

The drawing was quick, but there was no doubt that Waverly had captured Nicole in a moment of repose. Nicole’s sleeping form, the shadow of her eyelashes against her cheek, the swell of her breast, the fold of each sheet around her hips, the hint of a hip bone…

It was startlingly good and Nicole didn’t know whether to blush at the sight of herself so vulnerable or crow because her wife was talented beyond measure.

“I am sorry I fell asleep,” she said instead, taking the notebook from Waverly’s hand and setting it aside on the bed.

“We have been up for quite a while,” Waverly responded, her smile wide and full of mischief.

“But I do not want to miss one moment with you,” Nicole whispered, tugging at the sleeve of Waverly’s shirt. Waverly took the hint and pulled the garment over her head, tossing it on the floor behind her.

Nicole sighed, still overwhelmed by the sight of Waverly naked before her.

“It’s unfair,” she said, unabashedly gazing at her wife.

“What is?” Waverly smirked, fully aware that Nicole was staring.

“You have a portrait of me, but I have none of you!”

Waverly laughed, shaking her head.

“Will you forget me so soon?”

“Never,” Nicole said, finding Waverly’s foot with one hand. She gave it a squeeze, smiling as Waverly flexed her toes in response.

“Oh! I have the most wonderful notion! Let’s go to the portrait gallery! Please, love, it will be so lovely to have a miniature!”

“Shall we be stern?” Nicole asked, straightening up in bed and frowning, her brow severe.

Waverly giggled and nodded.

“Yes! And we must wear our Sunday best.”

“So, what you are wearing right now?” Nicole licked her lips, pleased to see Waverly blush. She loved making Waverly blush.

“Could we, Nicole?” Waverly ignored Nicole’s statement, but her smile never waned. She leaned forward, close enough to brush her lips against Nicole’s, and Nicole responded, pressing their mouths together in chaste comfort.

“Of course, sweetheart, anything you wish.”

Waverly wiggled in excitement and then lay down, pulling Nicole with her. They lay in a heap of pillows and blankets, comfortable just to be with each other. They had been at odds for so long, denying what they felt, that every moment was now a gift, a reclamation.

“What else would you like? To stay here in London? Perform on the stages of Kensington Market?” Nicole asked, taking Waverly’s hand.

“No, no,” Waverly said, pressing her cheek to Nicole’s shoulder.

“No? Tell me your dreams, Waverly. I want to hear every one.”

“Dreams are dangerous things, Nicole. If I release them now, they may fly away forever.”

“I will catch them,” Nicole whispered, turning onto her side so she could look down at Waverly.

“You will, won’t you?” Waverly’s voice was full of wonder. She raised one hand to Nicole’s cheek, soft and grateful.

“Yes.”

It was a promise. One of many shared between them.

Waverly settled back, resting her head against the pillow and Nicole’s shoulder.

“I would like to learn,” she said, blushing as she spoke, “or maybe teach. Either way, I wish to be amongst books…so many books.”

“I will buy you all the books in the British Museum,” Nicole smiled, tracing her fingers in loose circles on Waverly’s stomach.

“I wanted to go to school, but father wouldn’t allow it. Willa went and Wynonna for a time…I taught myself as much as I could. And read everything I could find – from penny dreadfuls to works of philosophy…languages…it’s never enough.”

“You would be a wonderful teacher.”

“Or one of the men who sits in the library all day, reading and reading, only to come home at night full of knowledge and ready for his meal,” Waverly said, voice wistful.

“And where would you like to live? In London? Near your sister?”

Nicole catalogued each of Waverly’s answers, putting them away for a time when she could bring them out again and make them real.

“No, not London. Wynonna will never leave here, but I would like somewhere quieter. Where I can see mountains, or lakes. Trees, even. But also, somewhere close enough to a city for culture and…”

“Bookstores,” Nicole supplied, leaning down to kiss Waverly’s forehead.

“During the day I could read or write, perhaps teach the village children. Or I could go to the city and discuss my findings with learned men, be welcome at their table. And then at night, I would return to my quiet cottage, tucked away beneath some hill, just you and me and a warm fire. Quiet.”

The picture was almost too exquisite to behold. It hurt Nicole’s heart. She wished she could reach out, grab its frame, hold it close to her chest and smell the oil paint. But it was smoke.

For now.

“And your art?” Nicole asked, mindful of the pencil sketch on the edge of the bed.

“Hmmmm. Perhaps as a means of small income? For the books, of course,” Waverly said.

“Of course. All the fine ladies of the village clambering to have you capture their visage.”

Waverly laughed, shaking her head.

“What about you? A copper?” She asked, turned to look up at Nicole. Nicole smiled down indulgently, taking a deep breath and allowing herself to think. Waverly was right, dreams were dangerous things.

“No, Nicole answered, “not a copper. But an expert in the science of detection. I wish to solve cases, to understand the minds of criminals and save victims. I wish to be included amongst men like Nedley and Abberline.”

“Oh, you’ll be grand. They’ll come from far and wide to seek your counsel,” Waverly said, a smile in her voice.

“I may not let them in. Not when I have my pretty wife all to myself,” Nicole laughed, lowering her face to kiss Waverly’s cheek and then her shoulder.

“And where shall we live? Do you wish to go back to Canada?”

Nicole shook her head. Though she missed the stars and the endless sky, that way was closed to her.

“As you said, somewhere quiet. Where I could see the mountains. Perhaps I’d have a few sheep or a cow…try my hand at a small farm,” Nicole said, imagining she could smell the fresh grass and the breeze.

“And at night on our little farm?”

Waverly was looking up at Nicole with a mixture of hope and humour.

“Well,” Nicole began, tugging the sheet from Waverly’s chest, “I suppose it may get chill in our little cottage, so I will first build you a fire.”

“How very gallant,” Waverly said. She arched her back, just a little, and Nicole understood the hint, but decided to wait. To tease. Just for a moment.

“And after such a long day with your books, your shoulders will hurt, so I must see to them immediately.”

Waverly blinked heavily and sighed.

“I would miss you something dreadful after a long day away,” she said, resting her hands behind her head. It pushed her breasts closer to Nicole. But, still, Nicole made no move to appease Waverly. She liked the small frustrated set of Waverly’s brow.

“A full day? That _is _truly dreadful.”

Nicole licked her lips and watched the hazy want settle in Waverly’s eyes.

“It is. I will have thought of nothing but you, all alone in our little cottage…” Waverly said, her voice low and breathless.

Nicole relented, circling her mouth around one, tan nipple and sucking hard. Waverly gasped, arching, and Nicole could not help but grin against the warm skin in her mouth.

“Such thoughts,” Waverly whispered, her voice hitching as Nicole sucked again, “unspeakable thoughts…”

Waverly pulled the sheet away, exposing herself to Nicole. And it would have been so easy. Even in their short time together, Nicole already knew that she could touch Waverly lightly and set her aflame.

Instead Nicole rolled away, smirking as she hopped from the bed and made a show of stretching her arms and yawning.

“You beast!” Waverly gasped, but Nicole did not turn to look back. Instead she quickly made her way to a pitcher of water left on Waverly’s desk.

“Absolutely parched, simply could not go on,” Nicole said, pouring herself a glass. She heard rustling behind her, the movement of Waverly’s body, and then something wet…something…

Nicole turned to find that Waverly and moved onto her knees, her thighs spread open revealing heated, pink flesh, hidden by dark curls.

“Waverly?”

Waverly reached down, stroking herself, and Nicole could barely keep her grip on the glass of water in her hand.

“I am not a patient woman, Nicole,” Waverly breathed, her hand moving in fast circles over her clit.

“Christ…”

“Would you like to finish what you started or must I do everything?” Waverly raised her eyebrow, but Nicole could see the way she swallowed hard, her blush blooming across her chest, the dampness staining her thighs.

With her free hand Waverly cupped her breast, squeezing, eliciting a small moan from her own throat.

“W…Waverly?”

Nicole lowered the glass to a table, feeling light-headed at the sight of her wife.

“The drawer, darling, the glass one, please hurry,” Waverly said, her words breathless. Nicole could barely tear her eyes away from Waverly’s body, from the quickly moving fingers between her legs.

But she knew what was in the drawer. She had known since the first night at Gibson’s. And the thought of it confused her.

“_Nicole…please…_”

Nicole crossed the room and opened the cupboard in question. There was an assortment of objects that previously would have made her blush, but the glass cock now inspired a different feeling altogether.

Confusion. Lust. Power.

She took the leather straps from the drawer, tying them around her hips and her thighs, and then tucked the dildo into a slot at the front where it rested snuggly against her pubic bone. Nicole looked down at herself, unsure how she felt, but when she turned towards Waverly her doubt diminished.

Waverly took one look at Nicole and fell forward, bracing herself on one hand as her eyes widened.

“I need…Nicole…please…”

The bed was steps away and it felt strange as Nicole walked, the cock bobbing as she moved. She climbed onto the mattress, her hands immediately finding Waverly’s shoulders.

“Come here,” she said, pulling lightly. Waverly obeyed, turning to sit with her legs spread open before Nicole. Her cunt was pink and glistening and Nicole’s mouth watered.

Waverly lay back, her hands now reaching for Nicole’s arms.

“Tell me why this?” Nicole asked, hovering over Waverly’s body. She could feel the heat from between Waverly’s legs.

“Nicole…”

“Tell me,” Nicole said again, lowering the cock so its head nudged Waverly’s clit. Waverly’s entire body arched and she gasped, struggling to find words.

“I…I want you to erase him from my body…I…I want it to always have been you…never him…just you…”

Nicole shivered at the confession, unsure if she should go on. She didn’t know what to do or how she felt about the spectre of _him_…except, Waverly’s words touched something within her because she wanted this too.

Waverly’s body was her own, Nicole did not own her wife, but Waverly’s body was now hers to care for, to protect. Waverly’s body was the most sacred presence in her world.

With a frustrated groan, Waverly raised her legs, curling her hands around her knees and pulling them down to her chest, opening herself to Nicole in a way that left no confusion over what she wanted. The sight of it…of her…pink and swollen, damp, dark curls revealing…

Nicole quickly reached down and entered Waverly with two fingers, eliciting the sweetest yelp from the woman on the bed. She removed them quickly, coating the cock between her legs in Waverly’s wetness, preparing it for what was to come.

“I want to be cleansed,” Waverly begged, crying out as Nicole slid the cock’s head from Waverly’s clit to her opening, teasing once.

“Turn over,” Nicole said, understanding exactly what Waverly needed.

Waverly obeyed, rolling so quickly that it would have been comical if not for the constant whines of need coming from her mouth. Nicole reared up on her knees and held the cock in one hand, guiding it home.

She slid inside Waverly with ease, surprised at the tug against her own clit when the straps moved with the apparatus. She hissed and Waverly groaned so loudly that at first Nicole worried she was hurt. But she was far from it. Nicole tested her new toy, thrusting once and then again, only to have Waverly fist handfuls of the sheets and press her head into the mattress.

Nicole’s hands found Waverly’s ass, squeezing in rhythm with her thrusts, and then she reached up, one hand resting on Waverly’s hip, the other finding her shoulder.

“There,” Waverly panted, struggling with her words, “there, darling, there, please, there…”

In the mirror across the room, Nicole could watch herself take Waverly. She watched as one of Waverly’s hands released the sheets and disappeared between her own legs, rubbing her clit again. The action caused a tightening deep inside Nicole. She was going to finish too.

She was a stranger to herself in the mirror. Strong and naked, her hair wild about her shoulders. There were scratch marks on her shoulders and dark, lip-shaped bruises on her breasts, and the muscles in her stomach moved with each thrust.

Waverly’s eyes were closed and her mouth was open and Nicole could not stop herself from reaching around, palming one full breast.

She wanted Waverly to see. She wanted Waverly to see them and using both hands, she took Waverly by the biceps and pulled her up, forcing her onto Nicole’s lap, her head lolling back against Nicole’s shoulder.

“Look,” Nicole said, using her knees to thrust up and into Waverly. She could now reach Waverly’s clit with her own hand and delighted in the small, hard nub. Its warmth, how soaked it was from the activity below…

Waverly’s eyes burned in the mirror, she brought her hands down to Nicole’s thighs, holding on and bouncing and riding Nicole just as Nicole was making her ride.

“Nicole…I…I have to…”

Nicole’s brushed her fingers against one of Waverly’s nipples, twisting just a little, trying to hold herself back to let Waverly go first.

“I’m…I…”

“Now, love,” Nicole whispered, licking the shell of Waverly’s ear. She watched the sudden rigid shift in Waverly’s body. She watched as Waverly arched, her rib cage prominent, her throat so taught that Nicole could see the veins pop. Waverly pushed herself down hard on Nicole, the cock disappearing into her heat, gasping once and then again, before falling forward, holding herself up on all fours with Nicole still inside.

She pressed back, her movements jagged and hard and the pull against the strap made Nicole release with a silent moan.

When Waverly collapsed onto the bed, Nicole did too, landing nearly on top of her wife. She could barely breathe, and Waverly was gasping for air, but Nicole found the strength to kiss Waverly’s shoulders and her back. She kissed her cheek and her ear.

And when she pulled out of Waverly, when she turned Waverly onto her back, she kissed Waverly’s lips, tasting sweat and tears.

“You do not need to be cleansed,” Nicole said, licking Waverly’s mouth, “you have always been clean. Before me. Before him. You have always and will always be an angel.”

The tears came quickly, Waverly’s eyes filled and overflowed, and Nicole gathered her close, a tangle of limbs and faces and hair.

“Only you,” Waverly managed to say against Nicole’s collarbone. Her hands tangled in Nicole’s hair, a gesture that was become familiar and precious.

Nicole settled against the bed, Waverly’s body warm and solid against her.

It was hers to protect. And cherish. And love.

It was hers in a way that nothing had ever been before and nothing would ever be again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for your patience. I am currently navigating a difficult medical situation and doing the best I can on the writing front. Your comments keep me going!


	11. The Twins

“Must you go?”

Waverly arms hung loosely over Nicole’s shoulders, her hands embedded in Nicole’s hair. It would be all too easy to give into her touch, to disrobe again and carry Waverly to the bed, but Nicole also knew that she had to resist. This time.

“I must, I must,” she said, laughing as Waverly peppered her face with kisses. Waverly’s lips found her lips, her forehead, the tip of her nose, her eyelids, her cheeks…Nicole was smothered in kisses.

“But I fear the spell shall be broken should you open the door.”

Nicole leaned back so she could see Waverly’s face, and frowned at the honest sadness she found there.

“There is no spell here, Waverly. Magic? To be sure. But no spell.”

“Swear it?”

“On my life,” Nicole said, this time kissing Waverly with no ounce of playfulness. She meant it and she knew Waverly needed to hear it.

“When shall you return to me?” Waverly pressed her forehead to Nicole’s, her hands returning to their place in Nicole’s hair.

“By nightfall. The sooner I find him, the sooner we toss him away, the sooner I can begin work on your dreams.”

This brought a soft smile to Waverly’s face and Nicole knew she had said the right thing.

“Will you miss me?”

The playfulness returned.

Nicole took a moment to look at Waverly. The tussled hair, the flushed cheeks, the robe that had purposely been left undone as to lure Nicole back to bed…

“More than I can possibly say,” Nicole answered, wrapping her arms around Waverly’s hips and lifting her up.

Waverly yelped and then laughed and then comfortably hung onto Nicole’s shoulders.

“I love you,” she said.

“And I you,” Nicole answered.

~*~

Nicole walked out of Waverly’s room and sighed so contentedly that she closed her eyes and completely missed Wynonna’s presence. A hard forearm slammed into Nicole’s windpipe, pushing her by the neck from the entrance of the second floor into the hallway where Nicole found herself precariously shoved against the stairway bannister.

“Wha…!” She tried to yell, but Wynonna’s arm was making it impossible to speak. Nicole heard the cock of a rifle and then widened her eyes in alarm as Wynonna raised her ever-present gun and pressed the barrel between Nicole’s eyes.

“You fool!” Wynonna hissed, lurching forward, which only increased the pressure of her arm against Nicole’s throat and her gun against Nicole’s head.

“Wy…nnoo..aaa,” Nicole sputtered, her hands plucking at Wynonna’s shoulders and arm and anything she could grip.

“You think I don’t know what you’ve done? You think I don’t know the nonsense now in her head? Of freedom? Of you?”

“Ple..wy…nnn”

“You’ll get her killed. Mark my words, Haught, you’ll get her killed and I will not have it.”

Despite her growing inability to breathe, Nicole could see the fear behind Wynonna’s fast anger. She could see terror in Wynonna’s blue eyes and she understood, though she deeply disagreed with Wynonna’s method of conversation.

“Nnnnooo!” Nicole choked, tightening her hands around Wynonna’s forearm, “NO!”

“Damn you, damn you and your idiot brains and your pretty words, damn you, damn you…”

Nicole finally managed to circle her hands around Wynonna’s wrist and elbow, violently pushing to free herself from the hold. She gasped as Wynonna stepped back, sucking in air, as she tried to speak.

“Wynonna! Cease this!”

“They will string you up! Both of you!”

The rifle was still pointed at Nicole’s head, but Wynonna’s voice was shaking. Nicole took her in, all of her, and realized that despite the time between Mercy’s attack and now, Wynonna had not changed clothes. Her outfit was creased, as if she’d been sitting for a good many hours, and the dark circles beneath her eyes revealed anguish.

“Wynonna!” Nicole tried again, this time lunging forward to take Wynonna by her biceps. The sudden movement worked. Wynonna dropped the gun and froze in Nicole’s grasp.

“You fool…” she said, softly, curling her hands into fists, but Nicole refused to let go.

“I love her, Wynonna, I would die for her. I would do anything to protect her. Don’t you see?”

“You will get her killed!”

“No! No, I would sooner die. I am a friend, Wynonna, a friend to you, a sister now…”

“My sister is dead and Waverly is all that’s left to me. How long before she is taken from me as well?”

“I would do _anything_,” Nicole said, face level with Wynonna’s, “I would give anything to keep her safe. She is my wife, we are bound and…”

Wynonna tried to break free of Nicole, shaking her head furiously. The two women stood panting, one foot apart, Wynonna in her crumpled night clothes and Nicole sweating beneath her heavy woolen coat.

“Wife?”

Wynonna’s incredulous expression offended Nicole deeply. She knew it was irrational, that “wife” would shock most people, but it was real, Waverly _was_ her wife, and she would fight for the right to use the title. Especially in front of Waverly’s sister.

“Yes,” Nicole said, “in every way that matters.”

Wynonna rested one hand against the railings. She continued shaking her head, laughing to herself, her shoulders slumped in exhaustion.

“Haught, I should string you up myself,” she said, though her voice had lost its edge.

“When is the last time you slept?” Nicole asked, her hand loosely brushing her own throat.

Wynonna laughed again, blinking heavily as she glanced up to look Nicole in the eye.

“You’re one to talk. I know you have not been sleeping in there with your _wife_.”

Sarcasm dripped heavily from the word. Nicole blushed, but refused to give in to Wynonna’s taunting.

“Please, Wynonna. I beg you, see me as a friend. You are my family now, all of you,” Nicole said, eyes lowering to Wynonna’s stomach.

“Family? Family is not chosen, Nicole. I should know. I’ve had no say in any of it,” Wynonna replied, pointing at her belly, at the hint of a curve visible through her bodice.

“Then let me help you. Let me support you and Waverly and this business. Why do you fight me?”

“Because I trust no one, but Waverly. It’s the way it must be.”

Wynonna retrieved her gun from the floor and holstered it and then considered Nicole with a much calmer expression.

“Then let me earn your trust,” Nicole said, offering one hand.

Wynonna stared at it, tilting her head, before smirking.

“We shall see, Nicole Haught. But I am within my rights to kill you should my sister so much as receive a paper cut in your presence.”

“We are in agreement.”

Wynonna sighed and then swayed on her feet, enough that Nicole forgot about her ignored peace offering and used the same hand to grasp Wynonna’s elbow to steady her.

“Time for bed?” She asked, pulling Wynonna towards the second-floor doorway. Wynonna swore softly under her breath but did not fight Nicole’s assistance.

~*~

Wynonna’s room was at the end of the long hallway. Nicole belatedly realized that she’d never actually stepped past Waverly’s door.

“Were you with Mercy?” Nicole asked, wanting desperately to maintain a sense of comradery with Wynonna. Waverly’s sister was part of her family now and the knowledge of Wynonna’s sorrow over her own condition…

Nicole’s mind was spinning. Gibson’s had a way of causing discombobulation.

“Yes. And no,” Wynonna answered, her words cut-off by a yawn.

Nicole wasn’t sure what to expect from Wynonna’s bedroom. A bed, surely. But Nicole didn’t know Wynonna, not really, not beyond their occasional spat and their mutual devotion to Waverly. Wynonna ran a business and cared little for love and was loyal to her people in a way that was admirable.

But Waverly’s room spoke so much of Waverly. Books staked on her desk. Art supplies. All of the luscious red furniture and sheets. The warmth of the fireplace and costume jewellery peeking out from drawers. It was an inner sanctum.

Perhaps Wynonna’s room was too.

Nicole opened the door and stopped in her tracks.

There was indeed a bed, its sheets crumpled and obviously slept in. There was also an alarmingly large stuffed buffalo head mounted to the wall. But what made Nicole pause in the doorway was the room’s inhabitants.

John Henry sat on the edge of the mattress, cigarette dangling from his lips, as he focused on tying his shoelaces. Across the room, standing before a basin of water and a mirror was Xavier, still in his undershirt, a razor in one hand, a towel in the other.

Both men opened their mouths to speak at the same time, but Nicole raised her hand, effectively silencing them.

“It’s none of my concern,” she said, though her eyes widened and shifted from John’s blush to the firm set of Xavier’s mouth.

Wynonna shuffled forward, ignoring the men her bedroom.

“Gentlemen,” Nicole continued, “Waverly’s sister has not slept in days and while I understand the delicacy of your current…_situation_…perhaps some gallantry is in order?”

“Wynonna!” John said, jumping up from bed to gently take Wynonna’s arm. Xavier turned at the same time, extending his hand, but pulling back when John beat him to it.

“Us three must speak,” Wynonna mumbled, “but not now. Now I must commune with my bed.”

She pushed past John and collapsed onto the mattress, grumbling only a little as her gun pressed into her side. Nicole could only shake her head.

“Rest well, Wynonna,” Nicole said, turning to leave.

“I’ll kill you later,” Wynonna responded.

John and Xavier remained baffled and blushing as Nicole left the room, closing the door behind her.

~*~

Mercy’s room was heavy with the scent of sweat.

Nicole forced a smile as she walked in, pleased to see Mercy awake and alert in bed. Her face was swollen, an angry red, and the sutures strained against the broken flesh, but it was still Mercy beneath the gore.

She raised one eyebrow at Nicole and then shifted her glance to Rosita who sat by her bedside, a mortar and pestle in her hands.

“Had quite the night?” Rosita said and Mercy’s hand darted out, curling over Rosita’s knee and giving it a squeeze.

Nicole blushed furiously as she helped herself to the chair on the opposite side of the bed.

“No shame in it. Mercy and I are quite jealous, truth be told.”

“Oh?” Nicole shrugged out of her coat, the heat from the room and her own embarrassment making the wool jacket unbearable.

“Never heard our Waverly like that. Wouldn’t mind trying out a Canadian, now would we Mercy?”

Mercy’s eyes found Nicole and had she been capable, a smirk would have followed her knowing glance.

Nicole cleared her throat and awkwardly searched her trouser pocket for a pencil and her small notepad.

“Enough of that then!” She said, crossing one leg and setting the paper down against her calf.

Despite her embarrassment Nicole also felt the warmth of acceptance. Rosita and Mercy were happy for her, she could tell, and it made her feel welcome and safe.

Rosita paused her motions and sighed, tilting her head towards Mercy.

“You ready, love?”

Mercy squeezed Rosita’s knee again.

With a careful hand, Rosita smeared a green substance on Mercy’s face, covering her left cheek in what appeared to be porridge.

“A poultice?” Nicole asked, curious, and Rosita nodded, cooing softly when Mercy winced.

“It’ll help with the swelling,” she explained, sitting back in her chair and reaching for a towel.

“I was not aware you knew of such things?” Nicole studied Mercy’s face, hoping that Rosita’s work would help.

“My family has always been well versed in herbal arts. Burned some as witches, exalted others as gods. Me? I’m a bit of both I suppose?”

Not for the first time Nicole wondered at the extraordinary humans who dwelled beneath Gibson’s roof. The talent, the intelligence…she was surprised daily. At times she chided herself for her preconceived notions of who exactly would live in a bawdy house. Rosita possessed knowledge that men of science spent their entire lives trying to obtain. And here she was, casually leaning back in an old chair, washing her hands as if there was nothing to her actions.

“Marvelous,” Nicole said, shaking her head, “simply marvelous.”

“Now, Miss Nicole, whatever can we do for you?”

Rosita easily ignored the compliment, uncomfortable with the attention. Nicole returned to her notebook and pencil.

“Mercy, may I ask you a few questions?”

Mercy blinked once, heavily.

“That means yes,” Rosita supplied. Of course, they had already established a code for communicating. There was no keeping Mercy from speaking her mind.

“If you tire or are uncomfortable, we will stop immediately,” Nicole added. Mercy blinked again.

Nicole settled back into her chair and finally asked the question she’d wanted to ask Mercy before the attack.

“Mercy, have you heard of a man named Robert Svane?”

Mercy’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment, which made her wince.

“He is tall, but thin. Wire-framed glasses. An accent, perhaps German? He has obviously been present with Charles Hardy here at Gibson’s, but had you met him before? Or known of him?”

Mercy raised one hand and pointed at Nicole’s notebook.

“You wish to write?” Nicole asked.

Rosita reached across Mercy’s body and took the paper and pencil from Nicole’s hands. She placed the paper near Mercy’s side and helped her grasp the pencil. Nicole watched as Mercy slowly shaped out five letters, the action clearly exhausting her limited physical abilities.

T W I N S

“Twins?” Nicole read, looking from Mercy to Rosita.

“Theodore and Elizabeth?” Rosita asked, one eyebrow raised as she stared down at the paper.

Mercy blinked.

“What’s that to do with…”

Mercy blinked again. Forcefully.

“Who are the twins?” Nicole questioned Rosita, whose face appeared to be frozen in a grimace.

“Would you believe our Mercy comes from a family of means?” She smirked, finally raising her eyes to Nicole.

“But…” Nicole wanted to ask why a woman with wealth would work in such a place, but she also knew that there was often more to the women of Gibson’s than met the eye.

“The family’s money has all been squandered, of course, and our Mercy’s father was a raging drunk who favoured the races over his little family, but there’s one branch who clung to their old pile long after they should have fled,” Rosita explained.

“Theodore and Elizabeth Gardner?”

Nicole took the notebook from the bed and wrote down the names.

“Queer folk, to say the least. Rumours abound. But our Mercy seems to think they may know your man.”

Mercy hit the bed, weakly, but with enough force to draw attention. She blinked once, purposely, a very firm _yes_.

“I will go at once then, if I may have the address,” Nicole said, standing from her chair.

Mercy reached for her notebook again, but this time she did not need Rosita’s help to write.

She carefully wrote an address on the page, but bellow it, in a sure hand, she drew a heart.

“Thank you, Mercy,” Nicole whispered taking the notebook back and tucking it into her pocket.

“I think she was trying to thank _you_,” Rosita said, a soft smile on her face. Mercy blinked once and Nicole reached down to the bed, taking Mercy’s hand in her own.

“I just wish I could have…”

Mercy blinked twice, pulling on Nicole’s hand.

“Careful, Nicole, the twins are…a strange sort,” Rosita said, her voice interrupting the silent exchange of gratitude between Nicole and Mercy.

“Aren’t I always?” Nicole smiled.

Mercy managed a soft, breathy snort.

~*~

The movement of the train jostled Nicole into a light sleep. She sat hunched in her coat, arms crossed, chin tipped down to her chest, while her mind skipped between images of Waverly and images of the dead.

She had not expected such a long journey. The Gardner Estate, or what was left of it, resided on the outskirts of Windsor. The distance was unfortunate, and she would need a cab to the home, but it gave her a moment to catch up on rest.

Nicole nearly missed her spot, groggily standing as the conductor called the name of a small suburb outside the town. The air was cold, it smelled of snow, and the brisk wind woke her from her stupor, leaving her standing in the midst of a quiet High Street full of small shops and pubs. She huddled in her coat, the movement warming her only slightly.

A short cab ride later found Nicole on far-off street, full of neatly kept townhomes. They appeared new, a sign of sprawl and wealth moving away from London. But Nicole could tell it was an old neighbourhood by the trees. The leaves had long since fallen, leaving thin, arthritic branches reaching skyward.

Nicole walked in the silence, her boots crunching on the thin layer of snow beneath her feet. The houses gave way to a lot covered in ruined foundations, evidence of an older neighbourhood and Nicole wondered if she was getting closer to her destination. She checked the paper in her pocket once again, reviewing the address, and looked hesitantly in front of her.

Crumbling brick and small houses gave way to a dead end, as the street came to a stop at a large manor home that appeared to be shuttered. Dead leaves blew softly on the frost-covered ground as Nicole took in the building before her.

It was tall and was likely once a majestic testament to its architect. Those days had long past, however, and its fading glory had too. Nicole’s eyes widened at the state of the wreck. Grey, chipped bricks covered its exterior, the windows were boarded up, though she could see broken glass and birds’ nests in some of the upper floors.

The Queen Anne style manor was nothing more than a dilapidated ruin, a remembrance of something once grand, and as Nicole pushed past its rusted gate and stepped into the yard, she shivered from cold and something else. She felt like she was staring at a mirage, a spectre of a home, out of time and place.

There was a large pile of letters before the door and Nicole briefly wondered if Mercy was wrong. Perhaps the house was abandoned? Perhaps the Gardner twins had finally left?

Still, Mercy had seemed so sure and Nicole had come so far. Nicole looked up again and noticed a wisp of smoke coming from one of the home’s many chimneys.

“I’ve come all this way,” she whispered to herself and without a second thought, she knocked once on the door.

When nothing happened, she knocked again, loudly, feeling the disappointment as her call went unanswered. She sighed heavily, frustrated by the loss of valuable time and was about to turn around when she heard the barely perceptible sound of footsteps from behind the door.

Nicole paused, resting her hand on the handle of her knife, safely sheathed on her hip. When the large, wooden door creaked open seconds later, Nicole found herself staring into darkness.

Her eyes adjusted slowly and it took a moment to realize that in the shadows, a man stood watching her.

“Mr. Gardner?” She tilted her head, trying to see more through the small crack in the door.

“We shall pay next quarter. Now leave.”

The voice was thin, reedy, more like a boy’s than a man. Nicole stepped forward, quickly wedging her boot in the space between the door and its frame.

“Please, sir, I am not here from the bank. I would like to ask you some questions about a former servant.”

The man breathed in once, his chest rattling as he did, and Nicole wished she could get a better look at him.

“A servant?”

“Yes, sir. It is of the utmost importance. Please, lives depend on it.”

The door swung open and a pale, skeletal hand swept across Nicole’s line of sight. She stepped over the threshold, immediately overwhelmed by the scent of damp and dust.

The front entrance gave way to a large foyer containing nothing but a wide staircase. Nicole followed its direction with her eyes, astounded by the darknes, a darkness so black that it was if the house had been swallowed, as if the second story and above were only a chasm into a starless universe.

Walls of stone were hidden by wood panelling, all chipped and spattered with black mold, and Nicole wondered about the age of the house. It felt old, older than Charles Hardy’s London manor to be sure, and the floor had a strange unevenness beneath her feet. The foundations were likely more ancient than the house’s design, built upon something that came before. Nicole swore she could smell dirt and rot and time itself.

Her host cleared his throat and Nicole immediately realized how rude she must appear, ogling the strange house in silence.

“Apologies, Mr. Gardener, thank you for your hospitality,” she said.

Theodore Gardner was younger than she expected, though his chest rattled when he cleared his throat. He was thin and tall and looked disinterested in her presence.

“This way, please,” he said, his voice bored and tired.

Nicole followed him, taking in the moth-eaten velvet waistcoat he wore. At one time it had been quite fashionable, but now it was like the house, old and worn.

They entered a side room and Nicole’s eyes had to adjust to the sudden light. A fire in the hearth lit the space, giving it warmth that the rest of the house lacked. It was clear that the rest of the house was shut off and this room with its overstuffed couches and bursting bookshelves had become the main living quarters.

Oil paintings crowded the walls, too many to count, as if the house had been stripped of all of its art in order to furnish the room. Nicole wondered if Mercy’s face was present, or perhaps Mercy’s father. She sat down on the chair presented to her, but did not remove her cap. The idea of placing her belongings down amongst the squalor or torn newspapers and dirty dishes upset her stomach.

“Teddy?”

A woman’s voice came from a door Nicole had not noticed. It swung open and the light from the other room illuminated the corners of the study. Nicole blanched as she noticed a bed against a wall, the impression of two bodies clear on its mattress.

“Beth, we have a visitor,” Teddy spoke in monotone, sinking down onto a mustard yellow couch opposite Nicole.

“A visitor? A debtor, oh Teddy, I told you…”

“No. Not a debtor.”

The woman in question stepped forward, closing the door behind her, erasing the light. She was of average height, her dress, like Teddy’s, moth eaten, but there was a wild look about her. Her eyes were too wide, her hair, swept into a bun atop her head showed streaks of grey at the temples though she was as young as her brother.

“And you are?” She asked, eyeing Nicole with equal curiosity.

“Oh, yes, I apologize once more, my name is Nicole Haught. I am with the Metropolitan City Police and I have a question about a former servant.”

“The police?”

There was excitement in the woman’s voice and Nicole wondered if these two ever left their home.

“Yes, ma’am, I…”

“Oh, Teddy, how fun!”

The woman clapped, sitting next to Teddy on the couch with a fevered energy.

“Ma’am,” Nicole tried, but was cut off by an excited exclamation.

“Please, you _must _call me Beth, all my friends do!”

“You have no friends, Beth,” Teddy said. His sister slapped him hard on the arm.

“As I was saying, Beth, I come to you in regard to your former butler, a certain Robert Svane.”

Teddy turned to Beth, his head swinging lethargically in her direction. Nicole tried to keep her face immobile as Beth roughly grasped her brother’s thigh, her eyes bulging in recognition.

“Oh, yes! I do recall Mr. Svane. Most assuredly so!”

“What has he done now?” Teddy asked, covered his sister’s hand with his own.

They sat, hand in hand, staring back at Nicole with identical dark eyes and the fire cast their shadows high on the wall, two imposing shapes staring down upon her. She felt small and adrift.

“_Now_? Did he, I mean…what did he do while in your service?”

“Well, there was the matter with the sheep,” Teddy said, twirling his free hand in the air.

“Most dreadful! But the maid was far worse, Teddy,” Beth added.

Her brother nodded and shrugged.

“Please, if you could provide more detail?”

Nicole opened her notebook and tried not to appear overeager. In truth, her heart was racing. She felt on the precipice of something important.

“In the beginning it was the animals,” Beth began, an odd smile on her face as she spoke, “we found them slaughtered. Or, not slaughtered, but dissected? Oh, dear, I do not know how to quite describe it.”

“He butchered animals? Was this part of his duties?” Nicole asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Ha! Imagine? A butler doing the job of a butcher? Ha! Beth, make her say it again!” Teddy flashed Nicole a wide grin though his eyes remained dark and lifeless.

“Now, Teddy, you’ll exert yourself,” Beth cooed, her hand squeezing his.

Nicole bit her lip, trying desperately not to cringe. She heard the unmistakable squeak of a mouse next to her chair. It skittered through a pile of newspapers, fleeing the room. Nicole sympathized.

“As I was saying,” Beth continued, “he took a particular interest in the sheep. And then, well, there was the incident with the maid…”

“Incident?” Nicole raised an eyebrow in query.

“What was her name now?” Beth pondered.

“Sullivan,” Teddy said, tipping his head back on the sofa.

“Yes! Annie Sullivan. She quite disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

Nicole swallowed hard.

“Yes and shortly after Robert left. Father said we mustn’t speak of it.”

“But Father is dead now, you see? So, we may speak of it as we wish,” Teddy said.

“That is quite logical, Mr. Gardner,” Nicole nodded, unsure whether she should run from the premises and alert the madhouse.

“Annie was a lovely soul, but a bit lost. Liked her drink, she did. Robert was kind to her, but…”

Beth looked over her shoulder and then away, her eyes widening in feverish delight.

“Do you know what happened to her?” Nicole wondered if she’d ever get the truth from these two.

“Father forbade us from the yard for quite some time…” Teddy’s voice was thin, but excited. It was the most excited Nicole had seen him yet.

“We had a little dog then. He so loved the tree. Brought us many presents from beneath its roots,” Beth explained.

Teddy snickered, his hand quickly covered his pale lips to block the noise.

“Are you saying that your father buried Annie Sullivan? And that Robert Svane killed her?”

Nicole held her breath and watched as the twins become increasingly animated.

“One mustn’t give away all the secrets of this house, Miss Haught,” Beth said.

“Beth, this is not a secret that should be kept. People are in danger, grave danger and…”

“I tire of you here. Please leave. Beth, make her go,” Teddy said, pointing towards the door.

“But…”

“I wish to be alone with my sister.”

Nicole stood, looking at the two odd creatures before her. They sat, hand in hand, giggling in short bursts of uncontrolled noise. The room was warm from the fire, but it smelled wrong, like urine and unwashed plates. In the corner, the unmade bed gleamed in soiled brightness, and Nicole was suddenly overcome with the feeling that she needed to run away immediately.

“I…uh…thank you, thank you for your time,” she managed to say, backing away from the room.

The darkness swallowed her up the further she moved from the fire, but she did not stay to hear whether or not the Gardner twins had any response to her salutation.

Nicole walked out the door, across the crumbled brick of the front yard, and hastily out the rusted gates, never looking back. She inhaled deeply, the scent of snow doing little to erase the memory of rot from her mind.

~*~

There was no cab to be found back to the village and the walk caused Nicole to miss her train. The next one would not arrive for another hour, but she appreciated the brisk air and the snow. It was a needed change from the claustrophobic squalor of the Gardner Manor.

Despite the late hour, High Street was lit prettily, and Nicole decided to make the most of her time. She stepped into the post office first, requesting two sheets of paper and a pen.

The first letter was for Nedley. Nicole painstakingly recounted her time with the Gardners. She explained Robert Svane’s employment and the mysterious case of Annie Sullivan. She concluded the note by revealing that it was her belief that should the MET dig in the Gardner’s back garden, they would find evidence of Sullivan’s body, which she believed was the key to bringing Svane in for arrest.

The second letter was for Waverly. She paused before writing, blushing in remembrance of Waverly’s smiling face and the perfect shape of her hips.

_My dearest Waverly,_

_Forgive me for my tardiness. Do not wait up, but know that I will be by your side when you wake. I miss you most ardently and only hope that your forgiveness is swift and my punishment not severe._

_Your apologetic wife,_

_Nicole_

Both letters would make it back to London before her train even arrived and Nicole breathed a sigh of relief as she handed them to the post office clerk. At least they were on their way.

There was time for a quick meal at the pub and a pint, but before Nicole stepped into the warmth of the village’s alehouse, she paused, eyeing a shop window across the street. It glistened in the darkness, small candles illuminating its wares. Nicole crossed the way and peered through the window, a soft smile lifting her lips as she did.

Perhaps the missed train would be to her benefit?

~*~

Gibson’s was dark by the time Nicole found her way back to the familiar East End street, but she was relieved to see it. Despite the lack of light, Gibson’s felt like home and smelled like cigars and baked bread and stale ale. There was no moldering decay or corpses or the stink of unwashed bedding.

There was Waverly and Nicole’s mind quickly shifted to her wife.

Someone had left a candle and matches on the small table by the door and Nicole quickly lit the wick and placed the candle in its holder. She took the stairs two at a time, popping into her bedroom to change into nightclothes and then to the commode as quickly as she was able, the whole time consumed by thoughts of Waverly. A full day away had left her aching with want. She licked her lips, anticipating the taste of Waverly again. And after quickly washing her hands, Nicole practically leapt to Waverly’s door, slipping in as quietly as possible.

Only a low burning flame in the fire place lit the otherwise dark room. Nicole could not see Waverly in the bed, but she knew she was there by the sound of the soft breathing coming from that direction. She blew out her candle, setting it down on the dresser.

She paused for a moment, wondering if she should remove her bedclothes too, but the pleasure of Waverly’s clever hands stripping her was too tantalizing. She undid the buttons at her throat, leaving her shirt open to the sternum and then retrieved a small package from her coat pocket.

All thoughts of clever hands quickly died, however, when Nicole finally approached the bedside. Waverly was fast asleep, one hand stretched across the empty space on Nicole’s side of the bed. It warmed Nicole, it made her feel missed and needed and she smiled at the sight, pushing away her want and desire for another time.

She turned towards the bedside table, about to set down her small package, when Waverly’s voice paused her movements.

“Nicole?” Waverly asked, groggy and confused. Her hair was wild and Nicole bit her lip at the sight of Waverly’s nightgown, loose and open at the neck.

“It’s okay, love, sleep now,” Nicole said, crouching by the bed.

Waverly shook her head and pushed herself up on one elbow, rubbing her eyes with the base of her hand.

“But I want to see you,” she said.

What was it about this woman that stole Nicole’s senses? What power did she have to fill Nicole with overwhelming love?

For a moment it was hard to speak. The image of Waverly, tussled and a little needy, forged into her memories. Nicole would always remember this tiny moment, this inconsequential moment. She somehow knew. She could never forget.

“Well, then, I’ve brought you a present,” Nicole whispered, taking Waverly’s hand where it lay still on the bed.

She’d seen the ring in the window, silver and bright, and Nicole understood that it had to be Waverly’s. Holding it in her hand now, she looked at it once more before slipping it onto Waverly’s finger, smiling at the sight of the silver reflecting the low-burning fire.

The feel of metal against her skin roused Waverly and when Nicole was done, Waverly raised her hand, looking quizzically for a moment before realizing what had happened.

“A ring?” She asked, a sleepy grin stretching across her features. Waverly’s eyes widened in a way that Nicole had come to recognize as surprise. Surprise that anyone would be kind to her. Surprise that anyone would think of her first. It was a look that was simultaneously beautiful and heartbreaking.

“It is traditional for a bride, is it not?”

The Claddagh ring looked like it had always belonged to Waverly. The small carving, two hands holding a crowned heart, was delicate, the craftsmanship superb.

“Nicole…”

“Do you like it?”

Waverly stared for another moment in disbelief before lowering her hand and reaching for Nicole’s face.

“I shall never part with it. They’ll have to put it in the ground with me!”

Nicole leaned into Waverly’s touch, closing her eyes in contentment.

“You are too far away, darling,” Waverly said, her voice breaking Nicole’s short reverie. It was not a question, but a demand that Nicole understood. She pushed back the blanket and climbed into the bed beside Waverly, resting on her side to match Waverly’s position.

She could see how tired Waverly was, how much effort it was to stay awake, and when Waverly yawned and then reached down to the waist of Nicole’s pants, Nicole gently circled Waverly’s wrist, stopping her.

“That’s alright, love. You’re exhausted,” she said, running her thumb over the back of Waverly’s hand.

“But…you have been away all day and…I’m your wife and I’m supposed to…”

“No, there is no _supposed_ to anything, Waverly.”

Nicole held Waverly’s hand, the ring on Waverly’s finger providing smooth warmth against her fingertips.

For a moment Waverly was silent, her brow furrowed, and then she looked into Nicole’s eyes with hesitation.

“You are so different than anything I’ve known before,” Waverly whispered, her voice full of marvel.

It was a confession. It contained stories and pain and so much unsaid.

“We are equals, Waverly. In all things but especially in our bed.”

Nicole brought Waverly’s hand to her lips, kissing the ring in promise.

“I do not wish to speak of him so often. I am sorry that I do…”

“You may tell me anything. You are free to speak as you wish,” Nicole said.

“I…I am not accustomed to being treated as an equal. At least, it has been a long while since I was given a choice in such things. When I was younger, well…Wynonna was so protective, and I did not have to work if I did not want to.”

_Work_ was a pregnant word. Nicole knew Waverly was not referring to her time on stage or serving food in the dance hall.

“And then there was him,” Waverly said, her head resting heavily on the pillow. She squeezed Nicole’s hand as if to remind herself of where she was and whose hand she held.

“I was at his beck and call. My feelings were irrelevant. If I was tired, unwell, it did not matter. There were…expectations. And it is sometimes difficult for me to remember that you do not have the same expectations.”

Nicole leaned down to kiss Waverly’s forehead and then settled back down into her own pillow.

“Never doubt that I want you, Waverly. I yearn for you always. But most of all, I wish you to be happy and fulfilled. Your desire is your own,” Nicole said.

“I yearn for you too, Nicole. All day I thought of nothing but you. And when your letter arrived, I planned for your return, but…”

“But you are tired, my love,” Nicole laughed lightly.

“I thought you’d be cross. It’s silly.”

“I am not cross. Or disappointed. You are beside me, you are wearing my ring, and tomorrow is a new day. I could not be cross right now if I tried,” Nicole said.

Waverly sighed happily and snuggled in closer to Nicole.

“I _did_ miss you dreadfully. Your voice and your lips and your fanny,” Waverly sighed.

Nicole blushed and snorted lightly. Waverly’s sleepiness was giving way to a level of honesty that made the room feel like some secret, hidden cave. It was only them. Nothing existed beyond its walls.

“You did?”

Waverly nodded.

“Tomorrow,” Waverly yawned, eyelids growing heavy, “tomorrow I will have your fanny.”

“I look forward to it,” Nicole said, holding in a laugh. The very thought made her squeeze her thighs together beneath the blankets.

“Did you accomplish much today?” Waverly asked, shifting again to rest her head against Nicole’s shoulder. Nicole turned onto her back, holding Waverly in her arms.

“I did. But it was like something from your books. Horrible and wretched and I am glad to be far from it.”

“Mmmm, you are with me now. And I have made you a gift too, on the nightstand,” Waverly said, her eyes closed.

Nicole could tell she was simply enjoying the moment, enjoying their togetherness. Nicole was as well.

“Oh?”

When Nicole turned to look, Waverly pulled her back, refusing to let go of her hand.

“Would you touch me, love, before I sleep? I have missed your hands so. Touch me a little.”

Waverly guided Nicole’s hand to her open nightgown, settling it against her breast. Her skin was warm and smooth and Nicole loved the little sigh of delight Waverly released when Nicole pressed her thumb lightly against Waverly’s nipple.

She glided her fingertips over the hardening bud, circling the skin lightly, watching the movement of Waverly’s face as she rested heavily against Nicole’s side. Waverly’s eyes were closed but her smile was clear, even in the darkening room.

Nicole pulled a little at the nipple, not wanting to hurt, but only wishing to provide the comfort Waverly needed. She was learning so much about the woman next to her. She’d always thought that sex was passion, a raw need forbidden to her. But Waverly was showing her so much more. Nicole understood that touch could ignite, but it could also extinguish. She saw the stress of the day melt from Waverly’s shoulders, she felt her own anxieties disappear as she fingered the small bumps of Waverly’s areola.

“Nicole…please…your mouth,” Waverly said, her voice quiet and calm.

Nicole did not remove her arm from Waverly’s shoulders, but used her grasp to turn Waverly just enough to let her lean down and tongue the nipple she’d been touching. She closed her mouth around it, sucking once, keeping her mouth closed as she swirled her tongue.

“Suck…my love…love…”

Nicole obeyed. Her free hand tickling up Waverly’s ribs, dancing to the melody of Waverly’s little moans. Waverly’s fingers found Nicole’s hair, tangling through strands of dark auburn until she found the back of Nicole’s head.

There was a little shudder in Waverly’s body, Nicole did not know if her wife had released, but it seemed to still Waverly. The hand in her hair disappeared and Waverly turned once again, finding Nicole’s side, finding her shoulder.

She was asleep in seconds, her right arm loosely curled around Nicole’s middle.

“What a miracle you are,” Nicole whispered, her lips against honey-brown hair.

When she was sure Waverly was dreaming, Nicole carefully reached to the bedside table, which was empty save for a piece of paper.

She turned it over, recognizing her own handwriting. It was the letter she’d sent Waverly earlier in the day. But on the reverse side, next to the address, Waverly had added a sketch that made Nicole grin in delight.

Waverly had provided a self-portrait, a naughty one at that.

She had clearly drawn it from the bed, looking at herself in the mirror. In the image, she sat upright, sheets covering her lap, but she was naked from the waist up, a cheeky expression on her face. Nicole took in the familiar lines of her breast, her shoulders, her hips, and that face…that perfect face.

_To my forgetful wife,_

_Love always,_

_Waverly_

Nicole set the paper aside and wrapped both arms around the woman beside her. The soft feel of Waverly’s breath across her chest lulled Nicole just as the fire died out.

They were left in darkness, safely held in each other’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential Bly Manor Spoilers:
> 
> *FYI: I’ve been planning for Nicole to give Waverly a Claddagh ring FOR MONTHS. And then Bly Manor beat me to it. Great minds?
> 
> You're all outrageously attractive and your comments keep me going. Let me know what you think of this Gothic chapter, won't you?

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love! No, please, THEY'RE ALL I HAVE.


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